It used to be that my house sat by a quaint litte river, commonly known as the Little Deschutes. A good 3/4 acre of open, grassy meadow separated the structure from the calm and steady-flowing waters - often frequented by deer, rabbit, geese and an ever-growing variety of birds.

That all has changed however. I now live by a lake. The grassy meadow is no more - and with it our horseshoe pits (and the half-logs surrounding it), our firewood stash, and the firepit itself, partially stocked with some dry branches and ready for that mid-summer night camping fire.



Yepp, the actual river is that tiny little strip of water you can see, far off in the distance...

The deer and rabbits have fled, its too wet even for the geese, and as cruel as it may sound - we secretly hope that all the gopher and prairie dog tunnels that riddle our lawn have turned into wet graves for their occupants.

So what happened?

A little thing called "snowmelt" - that's what happened. The fact that Central Oregon got something like 150% above average snowfall last season may be grounds for smiles and laughs for all the farmers downstream - but it sure isn't quite as entertaining for those whose properties are flooded right about now due to the recent warm weather.

Luckily, we don't have any structures in the flood plane - but there is another, definite, and more annoying side to all this water: it has unleashed the invasion of the monster toads.

As I sat on my couch last night, consuming my Tivo-ed dose of the "Daily Show", I suddendly noticed a deep, droning sound. Like an alien language. It resounded through the entire flooded area and beyond. QUAAAACK!

And I'm not talking in a meek sort of fashion. No. This was LOUD. QUAAAAK! Revved-up-hot-rod kinda loud. QUAAAK!

The voices of innummerable toads, announcing - no doubt - their joy about their new-found real estate, rang through the night. And through my ears, right into my brain. My head wanted to explode (think Mars Attacks!).

Only long after night had fallen, and I had bleary-eyed been turning and tossing in my bed for hours, did silence finally bless the dark and my sleep.

I can't wait for tonight....

I live about five miles north of you. Our yard was a swamp as well, until about three weeks ago when the water table finally dropped below the surface of our yard. I sympathize.

While I can hear a bevy of frogs bellowing their mating calls off in the distance, at our house we have but one little frog who sits under the garden bridge or the Japanese lantern and sings forlornly for company.

I've been there, too. I used to live about 6-7 miles north of Simone (55343 Huntington), and we had the same issue. Our house was quite a bit1 higher than the river, so it never was a real issue, but our field of willow bushes at water level got flodded after winters like this all the time.

You guys can't imagine the torture this demented chorus of slimy amphibians has subjected me to.

I need a new BB gun and really high-powered flash light.

Maybe if you learned "Hall of the Mountain King" on flute you could become the Pied Piper of LaPine. :)

LOL

Just what I need - *another* something to do!

On second thought - know anybody who sells sticks of dynamite? ;-)

And On The Bright Side - the water in the meantime has receeded probably about 2 inches, so things are starting to look up ...