Here I sit, covered in poison ivy, sore from riding the horses (and falling off) and observing my first tick bite. Ah yes! I couldn’t be happier. Why do you ask? Well, all this discomfort means I’ve been doing all the things I love to do and that means summertime is here. I’ve been weeding flower beds, planting the garden, riding the horses, and enjoying the outdoors. That’s life for you. Pleasure and pain. They go hand in hand like the oldest of friends.

Now I don’t know a single person who finds pleasure in having poison ivy on their face or getting thrown from a horse or pulling an embedded tick out of their skin. I am no exception. However, I don’t hate it either. If I did, then I would probably refuse to do, for the rest of my life, some of the only interests that have ever brought me true joy. Then where would that leave me? Maybe I’d be less itchy and in less pain but I would be bored. Possibly resentful. I’d be stagnant. Nobody should ever be stagnant. A person should not allow fear to keep them from doing the activities that light them up because although it leaves them safe (in my case physically) it also leaves them oh so dull. Being dull is a far worse fate than being uncomfortable.

Every time I engage in my daily activities I am faced with two choices. Choice number one is worry. Choice number two is enjoyment. As someone who has experienced more falls than they’d care to admit, I can easily mount my horse expecting the worst, but I don’t because each of those falls taught me how to become a better rider. I’ve learned that some falls are human error (not checking gear) and others can’t be prevented (horse getting stung by hornets). I always start a ride with the greatest of expectations. I also always wear a helmet and (depending on what I will be doing) a protective vest. Recklessness is not part of my vocabulary but neither is playing it small. The same goes for trying to live in a world overrun by ticks. When I was younger I feared them but then I became an environmental scientist. I couldn’t simultaneously map wetlands and stress myself over picking up a tick. After that first delineation, I became a pro at removing those disease-carrying parasites. I have to tell you those little buggers find a way no matter how hard you try to protect yourself. Removing ticks came to me just as easily as falling off horses and I realized I had wasted so much time on worry because I didn’t contract Lyme disease until a few years ago. I certainly don’t want to experience the fevers and crippling pain again, but I also never want to waste any more time concerning myself with something that is basically out of my control. I’ll just continue to take the necessary precautions to limit my exposure. However, if it happens again at least I have already gone through all the trial and error that resulted in my finding solutions to some of my ailments as well as a great infectious disease doctor who ultimately aided in my recovery.

So this summer I fully intend on delighting in the longer days and warmer nights. You will find me riding horses, meandering the woods and fields, sitting at a campfire relishing gooey s’mores, and listening to the sounds of frogs as I watch fireflies twinkle and bats swooping for mosquitoes. (Depending on who you are this may sound like paradise or the absolute worst way to pass the time. Trust me I have friends and acquaintances in both camps.) I will do this as much as possible because time passes quickly now that I’m an adult and I don’t want to squander a single opportunity while I still have a child young enough to marvel at all that summer has to offer.

That is why the other night as the sun was beginning to set and the frogs were beginning to call, my little one and I got a fire going. She happily gathered up all the s’more making supplies and a sturdy stick. I love this age because a campfire and marshmallows provide endless hours of entertainment. As we sat in awe of the flames and charred sugar, my son came out to partake in the decadence. At nearly fifteen he rarely finds the joy in the simpler things but if left alone he will emerge from his room to partake in them. There, by the fire for a brief moment in time, my rangy teen and my cherub-faced second-grader sat side by side without complaint or instance. We feasted as we watched the logs burn down to embers.

Once all the sweets were gone, the big one retreated inside the house. At least he graced us with his presence for as long as he did. So it was up to the girls to put out the fire. Our search for a water bucket brought us to the chicken coop. Our approach set off the motion sensor which turned on the floodlight. Lucky for us, because there on the side of the coop was an adorable gray tree frog. Finding Dryophytes Versicolor always fills me with joy. It is unlike the other species of frogs we observe and not one you are likely to see (even though their calls fill the night air). Hannah’s first instinct was to ask if we could keep it but she had to settle for cupping it in her hands and carrying it to the house to show the rest of the family. There the four of us stood on the porch marveling at and discussing our adorable find. Then we strolled down the hill to replace the frog on the side of the coop. Hannah picked up the bucket and we climbed back up the hill so we could fill it with water.

That night after everyone went to bed I sat down to think about the day and the frog. It had been a long day and I had to force myself to make the campfire. I was nursing many sore muscles from the previous day’s fall but sore muscles aren’t a ‘get out of work’ pass. They are reminders that keep me from never taking my fitness for granted. I am so glad that I mustered the energy to make the fire. If I hadn’t I would have missed a beautiful evening, quality time with the kids, and seeing the frog. I wouldn’t be sitting here today wondering about frogs and writing.

Frogs are significant. They are directly tied to the health of the environment as well as held in high regard as spirit animals. If the environment becomes polluted then the frogs won’t thrive. Likewise, if we don’t embrace the qualities of the frog then we won’t thrive. Their amphibious nature makes them inhabitants of both land and water and like a butterfly, a frog must go through a metamorphosis as it grows from egg to tadpole to frog. As a symbol, the frog’s strong association with water connects us with the world of emotions as well as the process of (physical, emotional, or spiritual) cleansing while its life cycle is symbolic of change and adaptability. How beautiful is that? What human couldn’t benefit from some change and some kind of cleansing? So if you are plagued with stagnant feelings of disappointment, resentment, hurt or regret be sure to call on the symbolism of the frog so you may wash them all away.

I wonder if the frog was put there for me as a reminder that life is ever-changing; telling me that I must transition right along with it. And guess what. I have been doing this all along. I am nothing like the child I was nor am I anywhere close to the wise old woman I hope to become. Every year, every new experience and every new heartache brings me closer to the person I am meant to be. What would be the point of feeling all the joy and sorrow if it didn’t change me into a better version of myself? Even though some days it isn’t always easy to accept the sad or difficult parts of life, I have to hold tight to this belief because, without it, all the external pollution will slowly seep in and surely cause me to wither and die.