It’s raining in Malibu. This folks is a good thing, we live in a fire zone.
My only fear in life? Yep, you guessed it….fire!
It has been a very dry year, so the rain is much welcomed. The coyotes won’t have to come in the morning and get water from sprinklers, the creek will soon be full.
I love it when it rains, I just walked thru horse poop to take some pics of the creek. I’m going to document what happens in the next few days with this big El Nino storm barreling down on us.
I grew up on a hill right above a swamp. There were also 5 boys living next door, so I was set. We’d take my wagon filled with empty milk cartons, and the tops opened up wide down the hill to the swamp. You had to crawl under the fence and go through a tunnel ( drain pipe) to get to the body of the swamp. The boys would always make scary sounds going thru the pipe just to make me yell. When you’re a kid everything seems so much more intense and ominous.
We’d load those milk cartons packed full of baby frogs, about an inch long, hundreds of them squirming all jammed in together. We would haul them back up the hill in the wagon, and sprinkle some in everyones front yards. Then we would forget about them.
By summertime those tiny 1 inch baby frogs were great whopping gruesome monsters. Huge, ugly, about 6-8 inch, bull frogs, stuffed fat from all the insects in everyone’s gardens. I will never forget laying in bed at night, warm summer breeze, the windows open, and listening to a chorus of mad crazy bullfrogs sing me to sleep.
All my kid dreams came true those summers, we found fairie wings, bottle caps, and catapillars. Insect eggs, golden water reeds, and gooey swamp eggs were my friends. Secret pebbles, and gum in my pockets…home made ice cream made with an old fashioned maker you had to crank by hand.
As summer wore on the occaisional fat frog would find it’s way out to the street only to be flattened by a car tire, and lay there dying and drying in the sun. This tragic frog became transformed into a super frisbee for me and the boys. We would fling them thru the air with great delight, and they flew with ease being so light, dried out, and flat. When anyone of us would find one in the street the call would go out….”Frog Frisbee”….everyone would come running to see how really discusting it was, and if there were any guts left on the cement somewhere. I’d always feel really bad when I found one, but had to join in the game eventually.
Today….I’m just an outside kinda girl……there was magic in that swamp!