Paintings on a Yacht, Spilled Oil, Birds, and (Finally) Wood Frogs

For further confirmation that the rich are different from you and me, read this, about a cruising art gallery that will be coming to the north shore of Long Island, and for an example of why oil spills, even relatively small ones are bad, read this, about the Housatonic River.

I’m sending in my check today for this; and this, which arrived in the mail yesterday, will help guarantee that there are no more cases of mistaken algae-identity in my household.

Every few weeks bloggers who are interested in birds compile a bunch of posts and put them out in something called "I and the Bird." This time I convinced them to use something I wrote a few days ago about a dead cow. Go figure. The current complete compendium can be found at Bootstrap Analysis, a blog which, if you're interested in birds, you should be reading anyway.

But the best thing I have to report is that I followed a colleague through the dry oak woods yesterday toward the clacking sounds of breeding wood frogs, and in the vernal pools and swamps we found them, fresh from hibernation, some already paired up and mating, some having already left gelatinous masses of eggs, each with a tiny dark embryo. As much as bluebirds at the nest box or phoebes singing from behind the garage, wood frogs herald spring.