Kevin Kehrwald

Anything Goes: Thoughts of an Appalachian Mountain Chorus Frog

Anything goes. A lot of folks think that means anything is allowed. But I don’t see it that way. For a while, I had a tail, and then it just…fell off. Or disappeared. To tell you the truth, I don’t really know what happened to it. I used to glide around in the water with that thing. I didn’t even think, “I’m a thing with a tail.” But now that it’s gone, I just feel it missing. Granted, I grew some legs, but how can I count on them? I don’t know when they’re going to leave me or turn into something else. Horns, maybe? Or a bill? Christ, this is depressing. It all goes. Just when I think I can hop around, I start thinking my legs might disappear, and then what? I land on my face like an idiot. But I’ll get over it. Even shame disappears. I used to be a vegetarian when I had my tail, but now I’ve got this—and I admit it’s absolutely disgusting—incredible appetite for bugs. God. I’ve lost all self-respect. Still, I wonder, will things continue going when everything’s gone? Maybe that’s why I’ve been thinking about females lately. I kind of want to make another frog, but even that makes the longing go away, which also makes me uneasy. I’m no philosopher, but honestly, I don’t think anyone can figure this stuff out. All I know is that it  haunts me, like the sound of my own singing—which, I have to confess, is not particularly pleasing. I don’t know why I do it. I just know whenever I start, others like me start joining in until we’re making an incredible racket. But what’s it all for? Something to do, I suppose. I don’t even have a permanent home. I was born in a pond, and then it dried up. Now that I think about it, maybe that’s why I lost my tail and grew some legs. But why couldn’t I have just been born on land with legs and stay that way? I’ve heard rumblings lately that I’m endangered, but the more I think about it, the more I just think, what’s not? The worst absence, I guess, is the lack of an explanation. For now, I’m just going to do what I’ve been doing. I’m going to climb this weed that’s right in front of me and sing until I’ve exhausted myself. I feel sorry for the weed. It didn’t ask for any of this.

Kevin Kehrwald is a former baby who currently serves as chair of FSU’s Department of English and Foreign Languages. Kevin has been in a committed relationship with Allegany County, and its mountains, since 2001.

Tile: Mark Catesby, The Land Frog (Rana), published 1731-1743, Courtesy National Gallery of Art, Washington