Frog Holler

Evening at Frog Holler

There’s a quiet hollow near the entrance of Mayapple Farm that fills with water after the rains.

It’s not a pond, and it’s not a creek.

Just a shallow bowl in the forest where the land dips enough to hold the sky for a little while.

River birch and tall sycamores grow there, their roots settle into the rhythm of wet seasons and dry ones. When the rains come, the forest floor slowly disappears beneath a thin sheet of water, reflecting the trees and evening light.

River Birch

And when the air warms in spring, the frogs arrive.

At first, it’s just a few voices.

Then the whole hollow begins to sing.

This place wasn’t planned.

No one dug it or designed it.

It’s simply what happens when water, soil, trees, and time are left alone to work together.

By summer the water slips quietly back into the earth and the hollow dries again, waiting for the next season to return.

Around here we call it Frog Holler.

And if you sit still long enough on a warm evening, you’ll understand exactly why.