As the sun’s reflection shines in the dark pupil of his bulging eye, and the mosaic lines that constitute the lovely iris pattern, Facundo Chulo sits on a rock in a small, somewhat stagnant pond filled with water lilies and pickerel weed. I see myself reflected in that same dark pupil as I snap photo after photo of my magnificent friend who keeps my garden bug-free and calls when he comes home after a jaunt.
The first time I encountered Facundo Chulo outside the pond, hidden in the allés of corn, bean, and squash plants—and appearing very, very fat—I thought he was dying. He wouldn’t move, not even when I touched him, he would just raise one shoulder, and slide slowly back down as if he were completely uncomfortable and loathe to stir. I delivered a shallow bowl of water to him, thinking he had been away from his water source too long, but he didn’t give it a glance. He stayed hidden among the plants for three full days, and each day he appeared to be thinner and thinner. I was sure we were going to lose this precious friend of three years. On the fourth day, though, I heard his deep jug-o-rum call rumble across the evening’s twilight. I dashed to the pond, and there he was, sitting benevolently and peacefully, in the pond, appearing to smile in contentment. I welcomed him home, talking in dulcet tones to this precious wild beastie who has captured a piece of my heart. I called out to my husband, Leonel, that Facundo is alive and well and in the pond. My husband strode quickly to my side, whistling and jerking his chin at Facundo, as if to ask, what happened to you, my old friend.
As Leonel took up the vigil, watching, whistling, and talking to Facundo, I trotted into the house for my precious camera. I know I must capture each froggy moment, as the awareness of Facundo’s fragility and mortality had assailed us during his sojourn in the garden. Life in all its precious variety is at once fragile and temporal, strong and lasting.
As I form bonds with the goldfinches and their fledges, the dragonflies and damselflies, the butterflies (up to four species now), the mockers and their fledges, the scrub jays, and the trees, flowers, and vegetables I know life’s microcosm here and now is but a tiny representation of the ripples of life’s expanding universe.
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