The Frog Band

A short story

The summer eve crept over the farm like a soft blanket that day. Not a cloud in the sky blocked the scarlet sunset or the golden tint of the sun’s halo. The breeze trickled through the tree leaves, like a pleasant stream over stones. It was neither too hot nor too cold. In short, it was heavenly. A perfect cap to a day filled with hard, but meaningful work.

Stretching around the perimeter of the farm was a short stone wall built by sturdy hands that have since lost their sturdiness. There were areas where the weather strongly, and sometimes violently, beat against it, but no storm brought it down. On many occasions, farm hands sat on the wall to eat their lunches and cool off beneath the shadow of an oak tree, if only for a moment to enjoy the company of their friends. And since the wall weaved over a river that weaved through the farmland, many a night, one could hear the chirps and croaks of frogs float across the fields up to the farmhouse windows as music to any listener.

This wall had been a traditional spot for many frogs to croak, but no frog currently knew how or why it began there. The truth, after leaping from generation to generation, turned into legend. But that truth did not matter to Cornelius. He was a large American bullfrog with a bulbous, brown back with stripped legs and an entirely green face. His dark, gentle eyes scanned the perfect spot to spend the evening as he leapt up from the river to the wall. He basked himself in the last tranquil moments of the sunshine.

“Ah,” he said. “A perfect night for music.”

He stretched his hind legs, preparing to be accompanied by his fellow frog friends Sebastian and Claude. Being the eldest, Cornelius was always the first to arrive before the two younger members of the trio. But he never worried. He knew they would arrive before the sun passed below the tree line on the horizon. They always had, at least as long as they have known each other. Suddenly, the grass on the riverbed rustled. Cornelius swung his body toward the sound. He had to dodge out of the way of Sebastian’s powerful leap onto the wall.

“Sorry I’m late Cornelius. I lost track of time,” Sebastian said while trying to catch his breath.

“Catching flies?” Cornelius replied.

“How did you know? Oh, you always know.”

Sebastian was a Northern Leopard frog, quite smaller than Cornelius, but spry. Dark spots speckled his entire lightly green body along with white markings on the center of his eardrums. In his curly fingers, he carried a small flute, fashioned out of a reed from a nearby pond, tapping on the holes as if playing phantom notes. It was a way of making his fingers flexible he often said, although it may have been a nervous tick.

“Where’s Claude?” Sebastian asked.

“He wasn’t with you?” Cornelius responded.

“I am right here my fellow amphibious vertebrates,” Claude stated as he bowed to both Cornelius and Sebastian. “Did you two think I wouldn’t arrive? I wouldn’t miss a fiery evening like this for the world, unless otherwise deterred by a stork or nasty bird.”

Claude was the smallest of the trio as a Spring Peeper, as is often the case when compared to other frogs. His smooth pale-brown skin could be easily missed, but his talent in musical arrangements often announced the arrival of spring. Like Sebastian’s flute, Claude fixed a violin out of twigs and spider webbing. It was no Stradivarius, but the instrument melded beautifully with Sebastian’s flute and Cornelius’ voluptuous bass.

“What shall it be tonight gentlemen, the standards or shall we be more rebellious for our potential listeners,” Claude said with a tone of exhilaration.

“Perhaps we start with a few classics, then we could go into original material,” Sebastian responded, still rapidly plugging the holes of the flute. “What about you Cornelius? You’re the eldest.”

Cornelius darted his eyes back and forth between the two, contemplating the repertoire. He noticed a great spirit in Claude to try original arrangements, but admired the blending of tradition and the new of Sebastian. However, he felt it best to temper both of their excitement and start from the beginning.

“How about we get ourselves in tune, and then decide,” Cornelius answered.

Claude sprung into form, standing upright on his hind legs, with his fingers on the staff of the violin and bow at the ready. Sebastian pursed his lips over the flute and Cornelius sucked in as much air as he could to fill his belly. Then, Cornelius rhythmically pounded providing a bass — which sounded like BOM, BOM, BOM — for the others to follow. The trio played a waltz simply called the Frog Waltz.

The music lightly bounced from the stone wall, down through the stream, and up to the farmer’s house as it has done many times before. The flowers perked and showed their colors before a restful slumber and the trees jiggled to the beat from the roots to the tip of every leaf. Even the stream bent to the music. Yet, even though it was as if the world around the trio was raptured by the waltz, and indeed every tune they played, Cornelius felt an emptiness in his large belly — a longing for more listeners to share in the joy of the music. Twilight after twilight, the trio played magnificently but seemingly to no one. Perhaps a cricket would stop by from time to time, but fled out of fear — possibly of being eaten since he was, after all, a cricket and frogs snack on crickets.

But no other frogs joined the group. For the aging Cornelius, this issue plagued his heart and mind for some time. “Who will play the tunes once we three are gone?” he often wondered. He resolved to approach his comrades about his feelings and hoped his friends felt similarly, but not before the waltz ended. He was enamored by his colleagues’ gifts. Sebastian’s webby and twitchy fingers danced on the flute with flair and Claude poured every ounce of energy into his violin. Cornelius’s bass kept them all in time. The trio, though separate, were one — one in song.

As the waltz concluded, Claude wiped his brow, but was not tired in the slightest.

“Another one chaps? I could play all night tonight,” he said.

Sebastian was rubbing his hands from the soreness, but a smirk crossed his face as the difficult tune reached its euphoric conclusion.

“Yes, I can do this again and again. No matter the pain to these fingers.”

Cornelius appreciated Sebastian and Claude’s zeal, but was more reserved. He knew it was time to bring up his concerns to his mates.

“Chaps. I want to ask you something.”

At this Sebastian and Claude lowered their instruments as a wave of concern washed over them.

“What’s the matter Cornelius?” they both asked.

“Well, I just notice night after night we come here and play. But don’t you believe we should have other frogs here to listen, maybe to even join our band? You two have great gifts that need to be shared with the world. And our songs may be lost forever if the next generation is not told about them. I think we should look for a singer.”

“A singer?” Sebastian and Claude responded with curiosity.

“Think about it. We three have the musical talent to play an instrument, but what if we added words, words and a song for others to hear and sing along to. Wouldn’t that be a wonderful addition?” Cornelius said with some hesitation.

Sebastian took his flute and used it to scratch his head. Claude tapped his bow on his knee. Cornelius anxiously waited for a response. Sebastian broke the silence.

“I think it’s a good idea Cornelius. Honestly, I’ve been worried about the same thing.”

“Really?” Cornelius said.

“Yes, these songs have been with frogs for generations, it would be a shame to lose them. And adding a singer would make our music more dynamic, maybe even more shareable with frogs from other parts of the wood nearby.”

Cornelius was elated. He was shocked by the acceptance of his suggestion by Sebastian. Meanwhile, Claude still tapped his knee in deep contemplation. Sebastian turned to the violinist and asked, “What about you, Claude? Do you think this is a good idea?”

A moment of silence passed between the trio, but then Claude hopped to his feet.

“Let’s do it,” he said with passion in his eyes. “But my only question is how do we find someone?”

Sebastian and Claude looked at Cornelius, the elder frog, for guidance. Cornelius sucked in a gulp of air and nearly laughed, for the answer was so simple.

“Lads, how did you join? Just ask!” he said with a smile. “But I don’t think my old bones can take a journey at the moment.”

“May I suggest, if I may be so bold, is to send me out first,” Sebastian said. “I will gladly find a singer, and then maybe Claude could follow me.”

“Why not me first? I may be more of a salesman than you are Sebastian,” Claude responded as he plucked a string on the violin as if for emphasis.

“I do have more knowledge about the music of the frogs, so I might be best to introduce them. Then you can show them how the music can fill their hearts with life. Doesn’t that make sense?” Sebastian said. Claude’s zeal subsided as his comrade’s point was strong and rational. Cornelius approved of the approach.

“Alright then lads, let’s find us a singer and I will write a song for them to sing along with us!” Cornelius stated.

With that, Sebastian hopped off the wall and began to head down to the nearby stream. It was a logical place to begin a search for a frog, especially at this hour. He hopped right up to the water, which was still trickling over the rocks at a gentle pace. However, there were no frogs in sight. With that in mind, he decided to follow the stream to the nearest pond. There must be a frog resting on a lily pad at the pond, Sebastian assumed.

The pond was a small body of water to us, humans — a normal sized child could walk around it in perhaps 20 minutes or so. But to a frog, the pond was like the sea. Sebastian hopped through the woods and thorny brush while following along the stream to reach it. However, clumps of reeds blocked his view of the restful waters with lily pads scattered across the pond’s surface. It could take a day or two or even three to find someone here, Sebastian thought. But, nevertheless, the challenges in front of him didn’t distract him from the mission.

The Northern Leopard frog decided to croak, calling to anyone who would listen. The first frog he came across croaked back, but something unpleasant — perhaps too unpleasant for anyone’s sensibilities. The second frog was much more amiable, but when Sebastian asked the frog if they could sing, a wave of fear swept over them. “Thank you, but no thanks,” the second frog hesitantly said as they hopped into the reeds.

Despite the setbacks, Sebastian continued hopping from lily pad to lily pad, searching for another frog, but couldn’t find anyone. On a few occasions, he nearly missed the jump, dipping his hind legs into the pond. He kept croaking and was nearly to the point of desperation, as he now moved along the edges of the pond.

“Is anybody out there?” he asked.

Suddenly, he heard a sweet, humming sound. However, it wasn’t from a bird or the evening insects, but from another Northern Leopard frog. And it was a female voice. It sang:

A pond’s waves gently touch its shores

While the sun warms the water like n’er before

But now the moon rises and the day must set

And the dreams we dream tonight, are memories not lived yet

Indeed, the female frog — named Angela — was singing the tune as she hopped in the reeds, carrying twigs to reinforce her little den on the shores of the pond. She loved her home. It was a quiet place, although lively enough with bugs to eat, but no larger creatures that scared her away. She could hop around all day and not run into a snake, which she hated. In short, her life was comfortable.

As she began to structure her twigs in the den, Sebastian’s croak reached her ears. Who or what is that, she thought. She was now alert and fortified her den as a defense mechanism.

“Hello, who are you?” she croaked back.

When Sebastian had heard her singing voice, he knew she was the one. Her voice was soft and smooth like velvet as it charmed his eardrums. This will be our singer, he believed. With a new sense of determination, Sebastian eagerly leapt over to the pond’s bed to Angela’s den. As he approached, he stiffened his back to appear more upright and shook the pebbles out of his webbing to be more presentable.

“My name is Sebastian. I am a flute player in a musical group, and we are looking for singer. When I heard your voice, I knew you could be the one. Will you join our band?”

Angela was still fearful, crouching behind her wall of twigs, and also confused. She didn’t know who this frog was or his true intentions, so she became more guarded.

“Who are you? Are you really part of a band or are you just here to mess with me?” she asked.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to be as bold. But yes, I am indeed a flute player. Allow me.”

At that moment, Sebastian took his flute and played a few measures of the same tune Angela had been singing. Even without his mates, the female frog became entranced by the beautiful music and, unconsciously, decided to hum along — although not to the full strength that her voice was capable. She was amazed at his prowess and came out from behind her fortification.

“So you are a musician?” she said.

“Truly, my bandmates and I are hoping you could join us this evening and use your talent to sing with us.”

“Tonight? Oh no, I can’t possibly. I really am very tired and must rest. It’s been a rather long day you see,” Angela responded.

Sebastian knew Angela was hesitant, but not out of tiredness. He could even sense that she was cautious about him. Angela hung her head low and even turned away to hop back to her den, when she said, “Besides, I am not talented enough to sing with a group. Humming and singing for myself is one thing, but in front of others, is another.”

“You don’t have to be afraid,” Sebastian said with a smile. “I promise I have no ill intentions. You have a great talent and I think it should be shared. You won’t regret playing with us.”

Sebastian paused and saw Angela’s head was still low. He suddenly realized he had forgot to ask for her name.

“My apologies,” he stated. “What is your name?”

The female frog turned toward Sebastian, still cautious about revealing too much of herself to an apparent stranger: “My name is Angela.”

“Angela. I should’ve known. You look like an Angela. With the voice of an angel. Again, my apologies for intruding, but I think you should reconsider. The band would love to have you sing for us because we want to amplify our music for the rest of the community. And to pass it on to a new generation. Once this music and our tunes are lost, they’re lost forever. I believe you have the talent to keep those songs going.”

“You barely know me, how do you know I can do that?” Angela questioned.

“Just a feeling,” Sebastian responded with a cheerful smile.

Suddenly, the reeds began to rustle. For a moment, Angela feared it was a stork ready to swoop over her and potentially take her away. She hopped behind a rock near the pond’s edge and hid; however, she noticed Sebastian did not move – he looked at the reeds determined, as though he could fight off whatever predator came his way. But it was no predator: it was Claude.

“Claude!” Sebastian exclaimed. “You followed me or is this just coincidental?”

“Of course I followed you! I wouldn’t let you completely go off on your own. We’re in this together. And I noticed you may not have fully convinced our potential singer hiding behind that rock over there, so I’m taking the liberty of stepping in. Angela, is it? Don’t be frightened! I’m only a frog.”

Angela felt it was safe to come out, although she did scan the sky quickly to see if any birds were flying overhead. She slowly approached the violinist.

“I heard you can sing,” Claude said as he plucked his violin strings to get it in tune. “Would you care to sing with me. I’ll start us off.”

Claude stood erect. He hovered the bow over the violin strings for a moment, as though to build up the anticipation. In a flash, Claude was off, bringing life to the violin, and hopped as he played a traditional folk tune with gusto. Angela was enraptured like never before. She felt the passion begin to swell in her. Suddenly, she heard Sebastian with his flute joining in and the two of them together fully convinced her to sing along:

The fire casts a shadow and warms a humble heart

And friends and folk gather ‘round all to sing their part.

Come saintly, come sinner, come every kind of soul

Combine the souls together, and there you have a whole.

By the end of the song, Angela knew she wanted to join them in the band. However, she was still hesitant and afraid of singing in front of others. Am I gifted enough like they think or will I make a fool of myself, she wondered. Meanwhile, Claude and Sebastian could see Angela was wrestling with her fears.

“Why not play with us once and see if you like it?” Sebastian said.

“We won’t hold you to playing with us every night, but if you sing once, we know you’ll be back. The love for music is there,” Claude followed.

A moment passed between them as all the doubt crept over Angela, but she loved to sing. What was the harm in singing once?

“Okay, I’ll sing with you tonight,” Angela said with a smile.

Sebastian and Claude were elated. They couldn’t wait to tell Cornelius. The newly formed trio hopped back up the stream to the stone wall where the elderly frog was writing a new song, one he wrote specially for this evening. He was proud of the song and knew his friends would enjoy it. As he finished his writing, Cornelius saw Sebastian, Claude and Angela hopping up to the wall. Sebastian and Claude bounded with ease, while Angela followed behind but still with trepidation. Cornelius had a warm smile on his face and greeted the new member of the band.

“You must be our new singer. You don’t know how much this means to me and to the band. We’ve needed someone like you for years now,” Cornelius said.

“I hope to not disappoint,” Angela responded. “I haven’t sung in a situation like this before.”

“No need to fear, we all were first timers once,” Cornelius said eyeing Sebastian and Claude. “In fact, I bet those two over there are nervous right now. I certainly am.”

“Why’s that?” Angela asked.

“Well, I’ve written a song here for you to sing. I may not be a gifted lyricist, but, I trust my friends who found you. It’s a revelation to know your gift and use it.”

A wave of fear still glossed over Angela, fueled by her own self-doubt. She barely knew this trio of frogs, but couldn’t shake their confidence in her. They either are liars or truly believe in my talent, if I do indeed have any, she thought. Sebastian and Claude could sense Angela’s fear and twitched to give her reassurance, but Cornelius batted a commanding eye as if he were saying, “It’s her choice.”

A moment of silence passed between them. Angela gazed out over the farmland and fields in deep reflection. She saw the stream, peaceful yet ever flowing. She noticed the leaves on the trees gently swaying with the wind. She took a glance at the setting sun, which enriched the earth with its loving warmth and reliability. Even on the darkest of days, she knew the sun was in the sky, still providing every ounce of its power to sustain the life she knew at her little pond.

She turned toward the trio of frogs. They didn’t know what to expect, but leaned into a hopeful response.

“To give something back to all of this with my own gift is a great opportunity. Yet I am afraid,” Angela said with her eyes to the ground, not looking at Cornelius, Sebastian or Claude. A great pit was forming in the bellies of Sebastian and Claude. Sebastian knew Angela had the perfect voice for the band and hoped she would recognize the talent in herself. Claude plucked a violin string, thinking its sound will never be fully realized to the farmland without a voice accompaniment.

Cornelius, however, was confident. He noticed Angela processing everything and reflecting. He decided to speak.

“There are frogs who are quite comfortable throughout life. They hop along pond shores, swim to their heart’s content, and snap their tongues on an enormous amount of flies. But is a life of solitude a life well spent? Is hiding our treasures within ourselves fulfilling? You are capable of more than you know, and I believe in you.”

Angela was moved to tears by Cornelius. At that moment, she looked at the song lyrics he had written for her. In a wave of emotions, she began to sing the tune solo:

To all the creatures in the woods

Come forth and hear all that is good,

The sun will rise in glory toward heaven

Even as the night falls, and joy lessens.

Not fear, nor grief can pull us asunder

Though mighty clouds may roar and thunder

And as the pit widens, when life n’er been worse

Take heed and care, for love shall n’er disperse

Angela paused. The sound of the words, and the tune she was singing along with it, were impossible to ignore. She looked at Cornelius, and gave the large frog a hug. Cornelius’ heart warmed as never before, grateful for Angela. Sebastian and Claude’s spirits were elated. Sebastian readied his flute and Claude hopped to his feet with his violin, playing in a fever of passion.

“Alright! Let’s give the world a show they’ll never forget!” Claude exclaimed.

Cornelius wiped a tear from Angela’s eyes as the two were still embracing each other. He then stepped back, whispering to the frog “Thank you.” Angela gave him a grateful look of acknowledgment and kissed the big frog on the cheek. She leapt over in front of the trio and, with full confidence, began to sing the rest of the song:

Sing and know your hearts are lifted,

For time itself hath been gifted.

So join the chorus of jubilation

And know you are one with all creation.

Sebastian’s whimsical flute, Claude’s captivating violin, Cornelius powerful bass, and Angela’s angelic voice combined to form the most beautiful music that had ever swept over the land before. From the wall to the far reaches of the land that no frog in the past generations had ever crossed, came every animal, frog, and creature as if carried there by the music. Everyone, especially the frogs, watched in wonder at the newly formed quartet. Some could be heard asking, “Why haven’t we heard them before?” Others asked, “They all play so beautifully, but who is the one singing? She’s immaculate.”

The acclaims moved Angela as she continued singing along with her bandmates. A sense of humble, yet joyful pride washed over her. She couldn’t believe what she had been missing this whole time in her life up to that point. She vowed then, in the silence of her heart, to play with the group every sunset, for they showed her the way to true happiness.

From then on, rain or shine, the frog band performed for all of the wildlife to much praise. However, that was many years ago — and the fates of Cornelius, Sebastian, Claude and Angela have not been recorded. But sometimes, if you listen closely, you can still hear frogs singing and playing the same sweet songs near that same wall, and other walls like it, as the sun says goodnight to the day.