Worcester Democrat and the ledger-enterprise. (Pocomoke City, Md.) 1921-1953, 1935-07-19
~
from the
Democrats Pen

Well, Sir, the hot weather has de-
scended up us and those who like the
good old summer time, have had
enough shirt collars wilted to remind
them of the true nature OF the sea-
son.
There are lots of nice little accom-
paniments of this period of the year to
give us occasion for real thandulness
and also for a good opportunity to
improve our talent for cussin'.
Of course, we revel in all the
beauties of flowers and foliage; it is
the time for outdoor life-beaches
and so forth, where humanity in gen
eral comes about as near to reveal
ing itself in all its natural beauty,
or ugliness, as the law will allow; 1t
is the time for fish, mosquitoes, ct al,
to bite; it's the time when you don't
have to pay a coal bill-provided last
winters account is settled-a fact
only half joyful by reason OF the
monthly ice bill; time, only shortly
after a young mans fancy turns to
thoughts of love-or something like
that, in June, believe; indeed it's
glorious time, provided you've got the
means to go where you won't melt
down to a grease spot, and where ev-
cry breath you draw doesn't feel as
if it had spent a month visiting the
crater of Mt. Vesuvius before it had
found it's scorching way into your
lungs.
You know, one of the sweetest lit
tie sounds that come to the ear OF the
listener during the season when the
mercury in the thermometer is cut
ting up high jacks, is the croak OF
the frog-bull and otherwise-in the
ponds of Shiny water in which these
amphibious creations delight to gam
boil.
These are the harbingers of Spring.
When they begin to grunt and growl
down in the Hearn's meadow, one
looks for sunny skies and balmy
breezes. The first sound of their bass,
tenor, soprano and alto voices is al
ways as much matter of remark as
is the phrase, "The days are getting
longer" They are certainly cheering
little ANIMALS, predicting the return
of happy days after the MOL and toll
of wintry blasts, sleet and ice.
One generally knows where to turn
ones ear to listen for these CHEEKY
sounds. They come from out the moist
places of surrounding suburbs; such
as, double bridges; Stevenson's mea-
dow; the gravel pit; and such like.
But, blest if 1 didn't think something
more was the matter with my hearing
enough already-when l heard a
chorus of squawks emerging from a
spot right in the business section of
the DOWNRIGHT in a vacant lot OPP
posite the sanctum sanctorum of the
Worcester Democrat"
l turned my good ear around so it
could focus, and there she was,-a rip
roarin' noise half way in the square
between Second and Clarke Avenue
on Vine. AS nice a little stagnated
pond as anybody would want to see
and the froggies hadn't failed to find
it. They were telling the world about
it.
Well, in addition to the music in
their souls, I hoped they had still an
other recommendation taste for
mosquito larvae deposited on the sur
face of the aforementioned city-bred
pool. If they would only snap up the
nits before they Matched, the frogs
would furnish sufficient apology for
their own existence.
Perhaps this little water-view, this
reminder of defunct miniature golf
course, has escaped the notice of those
who regulate town affairs. It's just
the incest mosquito hatchery any town
would want, and, furthermore, it's got
a neighbor not very far off on the
same street. These are real assets to
the town and should be publicized-
therefore this thusness.