Roanoke Times
                 Copyright (c) 1995, Landmark Communications, Inc.

DATE: SUNDAY, March 25, 1990                   TAG: 9003242270
SECTION: CURRENT                    PAGE: NRV2   EDITION: NEW RIVER 
SOURCE: Ned Bane
DATELINE:                                 LENGTH: Medium

SPRING'S NOT THE SAME WITHOUT GRANDMOTHER AND FROGS

Yep. The 10th of May cold spell, that annual scourge that left morning glories drooping for days on end, clanked classroom radiators with rising steam, and reduced school recess to yet another dreadful game of Button Button Who's Got the Button.

Nevertheless, the 10th of May cold spell was but a brief inconvenience in that magical rejuvenation known as spring.

Yeah, sure. There's baseball and all that, sandlot games with a ball wrapped in black electrical tape trying like Carl Yaztremski to make it through one more season.

Baseball's fine, but as the feast of spring goes it's just a garnish. The main course comes in green and yellow and peeps, chirps and hops.

Nowhere was the magic more evident than along Peak Creek between White's Grocery and the Allied Chemical Co. and Appalachian Power Co. substation. There, the cattails that grew high above the head of a third-grader fluttered and shook as the skittish red-wing blackbirds took flight at the approach of nervous little boys.

Frogs lined the cool mud on the riverbank like baseball fans down the first-base line. I mean, there was a whole bunch of 'em. That's why, as a boy, I used to bring my jar. I had planned to haul a few of these amphibians home, let 'em hop around the yard, and hose 'em down every so often.

To this day, I am still perplexed by the way 100 frogs can disappear without a trace into 2 inches of water.

Another sure sign of spring came from the local grocers. Not the modern Food Lions or Krogers, but, rather, the Jot 'Em Down Store, Piggly Wiggly and Arnold's Market. In the days before air conditioning, the grocers would prop their doors open to herald the arrival of spring.

Arnold's Market held a special place in my heart - and on my butt from the proprietor chasing me out while whacking me on the pants with a broom.

Arnold's whole market was about the same size as a '59 Imperial. Consequently, he had his goods stacked way up to the ceiling. It was a geometric marvel. Little boxes of Arm & Hammer baking soda supporting bags of Martha White Self-Rising Flour overhead. That Arnold could flat throw a fit if you yanked out the Arm & Hammer.

So now it feels warm outside, but it's tough to tell whether it's spring or just that fake version that comes early in the year. My grandmother isn't around to tell me when to stop wearing my undershirt. The Jot 'Em Down Store and Piggly Wiggly are gone. Arnold's? It's still there, but the sign says "Out to Lunch" more than it used to.

Peak Creek is still there, but only in the loosest sense. There are no cattails. There are no red-wing blackbirds. There are no frogs. The creek that bisects Pulaski has been turned into a heavy-metal brew of lead, cadmium, selenium and zinc lurching along toward Claytor Lake.

The creek's banks may never bloom again, but at least its waters can run clear again, rather than the red of heavy-metal oxides.

Nature does recharge itself. But sometimes it needs a helping hand.