Summer days are long and sunny.

We children were outside–playing, laughing, running.

Till afternoon clouds burst with warm, pelting rain.

We sprinted for cover on the back porch swing.


“Run inside. Grab  your raincoats, Grandma said with an elbow nudge. “Go splash and play,”

Then she turned back to the hot steam of the stove and canner.


Outside we skipped and hopped.

If it weren’t for the frog we found at the edge of the tomato patch we may have never stopped.

Johnna scooped up the little creature and ran to the house.

We all whooped and squealed with delight as we slid in the mud trying to keep up.

We had to show Grandma. What a memorable sight.


Grandma was standing at the kitchen sink with water and tomatoes up to her elbows.

For a second she grinned, then returned to the tomatoes–speculating

the source of little chunks missing from some of the prizes she had grown.


“Look what we found! May we keep it? It won’t make a mess.”

“Take it outside quick! I think it has been peculating my tomatoes. Just look at these holes!!!”


We took it outside and watched it hop across the porch, then put it in a box, then went back out in the rain.

We forgot all about the frog until we heard Grandma scream!!!

She was holding a jar of tomatoes. In it was our frog.

We never figured out the mystery of how it got there. Maybe it had something to do with the peculating of the tomatoes.


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