A tree frog in Bellingham

It was long overdue, but finally, with Richard's encouragement, we tackled the task of lopping off some low-hanging branches from the big evergreen in front of the house.

This task involved an arsenal of handsaws, trimmers, and super loud chainsaws. My job was to cry "Timber!", as each branch came crashing to the ground. After being lopped off the tree, we would set upon each branch, strip away the smaller offshoots, then using the chainsaw (graciously on loan from my wonderful neighbors) cut up the branch into bite-sized pieces suitable for firewood at a later date.

In the midst of the melée, quietly sitting on one of the branches, was this little fellow. I'm not sure what type of frog he was, but he was very brave, allowing Rich to hold him in his hand for quite some time before hopping back onto the tree. Even after leaping back to the safety of the tree, he lingered on, watching us toil away for most of the afternoon.

We rewarded our sore, aching bodies with burgers, cold beer, and a great Woody Allen movie.