Oh Joy!

It is 2:17 AM.

I came out to check the lisianthus starts. They are as fussy as a colicky baby, and I wanted to make sure the greenhouse was not overheating.

As I turned to leave, I saw something perched calmly on the dusty miller grow tray.

A HUGE frog!

And it was watching me.

Completely unmoved, emotionally stable, and spiritually unbothered by my shriek.

Staring me down in MY greenhouse — a repurposed two-car garage — as if it owned the place.

Honestly, who knows how long it had been watching me.

Are there more?

I have a six-foot fence, a “sealed” greenhouse, and somehow this frog found its way to the warmest spot in the building.

My skin crawled as I spent the next twenty minutes trying to figure out where it came from.

I never did.

Oh, Joy.

Yes, I named it.

By morning it was gone.

Well… that’s what I told myself.

So this is farming.

You try to account for voles, heat stress, germination rates, and companion planting conflicts.

And then a frog shows up in the back corner of your greenhouse and reminds you that the land has its own sense of humor.

Apparently, some creatures do not require permission to squat among my dusty millers and snapdragons.

As long as nothing further up the food chain slithers in, I should be ooook.

The lisianthus, for the record, were just fine.