We pull off the highway and turn into a compacted dirt parking lot enclosed by a waist-high fence. Across the road, a wooden shack sits half collapsed among the water and weeds. We collect our things and open the doors to the summer heat. There is no shade in sight, and the breeze off Lake Erie does little to help. Ahead of us, a metal sign with a long-necked bird cut through it stands beside a heavy gate secured by a rope latch.
Mazie opens the gate, walks through, then quickly shuts it behind her. She waits with a grin to see whether I can figure it out. I lift the latch and push the gate open. We laugh, then head toward the lookout.
Within seconds, she has climbed down the first bank and is standing ankle-deep in mud and water, looking for the first sign of a frog or toad. I am relieved we brought boots.
From the path, I admire large patches of yarrow, take a photo or two and wonder what else might be blooming ahead.
“Let’s keep going,” I say, pointing toward the lookout.
As we reach the steps, a couple begins making their way down. I smile and say hello, but they walk past without answering.
I nod toward the first path on the right, where a red wire cage, roughly the size of a shopping cart, sits half-submerged in the water.
“What’s that?” Mazie asks.
“I’m not sure.”
We carry on.
With each step, bees and butterflies scatter from the goldenrod and asters along the steep, grassy banks. A breeze sweeps across the wetland, carrying birdsong and the smell of dry, sun-warmed grass over the open water. In the distance, a large grey bird disappears behind the reeds and brush.
I close my eyes and breathe slowly, but the sound of rubber boots rushing by pulls me back.
“What is it?” I ask.
“Frog,” she says, her expression serious.
Several leopard frogs are resting in the mud directly in front of her. Her attention settles on one. Behind her, I spot a small patch of swamp milkweed with a monarch on its bright pink flowers.
For a moment, neither of us speaks.
I reach for my camera. The frog startles, then vanishes beneath the lily pads. Mazie looks up at me with a furrowed brow and says nothing.
I see the monarch is gone, too.
“Let’s keep going,” I say, nodding in the direction we’re headed, but neither of us moves.
Then we start up the bank. We are barely at the top when Mazie hears another frog and disappears into the tall grass on the opposite side of the path. I follow until I see that she’s settled at the water’s edge, then wander a little farther ahead to look at a patch of yellow primroses.
When I look up, I see a family approaching along the path. As they get closer, they’re all smiling.
“Good morning,” I say.
“Good morning,” the woman says.
“What are you looking for?” she whispers.
“Frogs.”
“Oh,” the woman says, flipping through her phone to show me a photo she has just taken.
“There’s a few that way,” she says, pointing back toward the lookout.
I smile and thank her, then they continue down the path. I turn back toward Mazie, who is staring into a pool of dark, still water. When I look up again, grey clouds hang in the distance and the family has disappeared beyond the first marker.
“Frog eggs,” she says.
“I think we should head back soon,” I say. “We don’t want to be out here if it storms.”
We agree to walk to the first marker, then turn back. The banks are thick with tall grasses and reeds here, and we have to stay on the mowed path. By the time we arrive, the wind has picked up and the grey clouds seem closer.
We sit on the bench for a moment, have a drink of water and read the sign beside us.
“Sure you don’t want to keep going?” I ask.
“No,” Mazie says, shaking her head.
“Okay,” I say, getting to my feet.
She picks up her pace as we head toward the parking lot. I slow down at a small patch of blue vervain among thistles gone to seed, then look up to see how far she’s gotten.
I’ve got about thirty seconds.
I take a few more photos, drop my camera into my bag and jog to catch up with her.
For the rest of the way, we’re silent. I can’t stop thinking about what lies beyond the first marker.
When we reach the car, I ask, “What was your favourite part?”
“The frogs,” she says.
