Up until yesterday, when we had a lapse into cold weather, there was little doubt that spring had arrived around our house. Mr. M and I spent last weekend planting flowers, herbs and vegetables, and he did his annual fixing of our goldfish pond, triumphing in the hope that he'd finally gotten it right. That very evening we were greeted by the songs of toads, and were somehow to tired to remember exactly what that meant. Instead, we gleefully poured glasses of wine on the porch and toasted the sounds of spring.
On Tuesday after clipping some overgrown herbs I decided to take a wander around the gardens in between rain showers.
When I went around to the vegetable garden I forgot all about it. I couldn't hear. My eardrums were practically blown out by the "calls" of the toads. I kind of wish I hadn't walked over to the pond to see what was going on, because what I found can only be described as a massive amphibian orgy. Suddenly I was forced to remember the revolting sight of freshly-laid toad eggs. OMG. Ew! And so many procreating toads!!