Vocal Point: Exhale releases tree frog from teapot

When my husband, Henry, and I were first married some 67 years ago, we leased a lot at Priest Lake. We visualized long weekends and summer vacations of boating and swimming. And it came about.

And our children came along. Our daughter and our son. And they grew up strong and brown with tan, happy from swimming and boating in the cool waters of the lake those long, hot summers. And after they flew the nest – college, out-of-the-area jobs, marriage – the lake was still a delightful refuge for the two of us.

One night after we arrived at the cabin and put our supplies away, we settled down to relax after a long and busy week at work. On the table was an arrangement I had made – a small blue and white Oriental duck teapot filled with Philodendron vines. As the vines’ roots were in water, the teapot sat on the table while we were at the cabin. Before we left on Sunday afternoons, I set it out on the uncovered deck so that passing showers through the week could keep it watered and fresh.

Everything was peaceful and quiet as we read and played solitaire. Suddenly we heard a funny noise: “Gu-rr-ump!” We looked at each other. Then we heard it again. “Gu-rr-ump!” “Gu-rr-ump!”

I finally traced the sound to the little duck teapot. While the pot sat out on the deck during the week, a small green tree frog had evidently been attracted to its greenery. It had gotten into the pot, then up into the duck’s head trying to escape through the open-end pouring spout of the beak. The hole was not large enough, however, and while trying to escape the frog had forced its head so firmly into the opening of the spout that it became tightly stuck. It could neither go forward, nor withdraw.

How to release it? Anything pushed in would have punctured the soft little head. I finally took the pot out on the deck, pulled out the vines, poured off the water and turned the pot upside down. Then, being ver-ry careful not to touch my mouth to the slightly protruding lips of the frog, I took a huge, deep breath, put my mouth on the edge of the spout, and blew in a huge blast of air.

It worked! The little frog flew out of the pot, landed off somewhere on the deck … and was gone into the darkness of the night.

But you know, I have been sorry ever since that I didn’t put my lips closer to those of the little amphibian. Now I will never know if it truly was a small green tree frog in the spout of my little Oriental duck teapot … or a very cramped handsome prince awaiting.