Living on the plains of North Central Montana, like anyplace, has its ups and downs. There are the winters, the hot dry summers, and the wind (you know, it makes the mountains sound like folks were up there dyin'). However there is one good thing we've got, one of my favorites. Something that most places have and likely take for granted. But sometimes things that are commonplace in one area become near miraculous in another. Frogs. I know, every place that has water has the slimy little guys, but that's the thing, we don't have water, not regularly at least. There is a small reservoir just south of our house. Things have been pretty dry in our area for the last twenty or so years, so the reservoir has been dry most of the time. About one year in five it will get snow-melt runoff, but I only remember once in that period of time that it had enough water to last through the summer. This year however, we had quite a bit of snow, and it melted fast enough to run, so our little reservoir has water again. A few weeks ago, as we got home from a trip to town I heard them, "happy little frogs" (I hear the voice of Bob Ross as I type that). We live in a place that some years it is too hot and dry to keep our lawns green, much less have green grass in the prairie. But it is also a place, that given a little water, has frogs chirping away. When there is a year with enough water they reproduce and then burrow way down into the mud and wait, sometimes years, for more water. As tired as I grow of the wind and the dryness, it somehow gives me hope that an amphibious little creature can live in what is practically my backyard. I don't mind the sound of crickets in summer, though they eventually become grating; and coyotes are fun to listen to, but their yips and howls aren't exactly friendly sounding. But listening to frogs as you drift to sleep on a spring evening--I know of few pleasures comparable.