Blood, Sweat, and Teeth: You ever been frog gigging?

Well, according to my childhood memories, it's when you get to stay up late late late, and you get to go with your dad, uncles, and a few of their buddies down to the lake with a small row boat tied to the roof of your daddy's '83 Ford Bronco. You have to sit on the hump, which is the wheel well behind the back bench seat. It's cramped, but you have the important job of holding the two thermoses; one is soup, the other, hot cocoa. They're the kind of thermoses that have been going on occasional hunting trips and to a full-time job every weekday with the occasional Saturday over-night shift longer than you've been alive, and they have handles on the side.

You know you probably SHOULD be tired, considering you had baseball practice that ran long into the evening leaving you to race home JUST in time for dinner but still being late enough that you had to do the big ol' heap of dishes afterwards. Seemed like every dish in the house was dirty, and you pouted when mom rubbed some Noxema on your sunburned shoulders, forehead, and nose. But, you know something is up, because no one has told you to "GIT IN THE TUB!" yet. As the evening turns cool, instead of putting on your peejays, you decide to put on your shoes and a Bears Super Bowl XX sweatshirt. Just when you're coming back into the living room, you see dad putting on his jacket and grabbing the thermoses and a lunch pail, but he's not in his work blues, and he winks at you, and you smile big cuz you know you're coming along, and you're NOT tired.

So, now you're on the hump in the back of the Bronco pretending to get the jokes your dad, uncles, and a few of their buddies are telling, holding the thermoses. The truck pulls off the main road onto the little dirt embankment just after the bridge and before the Isaak Walton League sign. Upon cutting the rumbling motor, the crickets and frogs seem louder here than on the farm. The doors creak open, the guys hopping out, but instead of scrabbling over the seat, you hop out the open hatch window in the back. The guys are untying the small row boat, occasionally cussing at the knots, and they get it down. Your uncle, Tag, tosses you the rope to put in the back of the truck. Trying to look dutiful instead of dorkily overjoyed with the opportunity to show off how you learned to properly stow a rope earlier that summer at Shambaugh's farm from old man Shambaugh himself; you look down and carefully set about winding the rope just right so it unfurls cleanly instead of knotting when needed again.

Inside the small row boat are some, what look like wooden mop handles, with small trident spears attached to the end. And some flashlights and a bucket. Your dad, uncles, and a few of their buddies, scoot the boat into the shallow, dark water. You, unable to contain your excitement at this point, go to jump into the boat, but your dad gives you a “HEY!” You look up, and he asks, “Where are the thermoses?” “Oh, yeah!” you exclaim, and hurry to hop up on the back bumper, reaching inside the open hatch window and grabbing them. They’re right there next to your expertly stowed rope. So, now, thermoses in hand, you join the guys in the small boat and your uncle pushes it off slowly from the shore and hops in. Everyone has a spear, and just when you’ve given up hope that you’re going to get one, your dad hands you a flashlight and finally… a small spear of your own! The directions that follow are this:
-Shine the flashlight into the water.
-When you see a frog, spear it.
-When you spear a frog, put it in the bucket.

We had a big frog leg barbecue the next day. DELICIOUS.