Frog Jumping Contest!

That is apparently just the sort of thing I missed not growing up in a rural farmtown. Bill lured me to my first Stawberry-Fest at the Dudley Grange with promises of home-made strawberry shortcake (what is a grange?--I thought it was a rash that dogs get). Dammit, he knows I am weak in the face of any baked dessert. It's my kryptonite.


These people are SERIOUS about their shortcake (note the signage).

Yeah well, so am I.




Shortcake aquired (no, seriously--we ate all of those), it was time for another traditional Stawberry-fest activity; the Frog Jumping Contest. We came prepared--only two hours before, Bill and G had found Croakey Johnson. Here he is...in all his amphibious glory.




Well, apparently never witnessing a frog jumping contest is JUST what they are looking for in a judge--namely, me. Thank God a 9-year old girl filled me in on the details before the contest. You hold the frog in the inner circle, and when they shout GO, you tickle their bum with a feather (?!?) until they reach the outer circle. First one to the outer circle is the winner. I was in charge of passing out and collecting the feathers (and collecting rogue frogs).


Note to self: At some point, I have to get G to where she doesn't let out a blood curdling scream whenever a frog touches her. I mean--seriously, she sounded like a girl.


Anyway Croakey Johnson (I did not name him--G did) came in second. Oh well, he did try his hardest, and I swear some of those other frogs were doping, which really skews the results.

And then..one baby-meltdown later (ah, baby-meltdown, we know you so well) and it was time to go!