Of frogs. And jumping.

Mark Twain wrote "The Celebrated Jumping Frog of Calaveras County." Never having been much of a Twain fan, I've never read it. But I never stopped to think that frog jumping had more of an impact on society than that story.

Then I came here.

I was desperate for something to do after I came up here. I was living in a variety of hotels at the time, as my apartment wasn't ready for me yet. So I couldn't distract myself with cleaning or shopping or decorating.

So I ended up at a frog jumping contest on a Thursday, surrounded by dozens of kids under 13 and their slimy green companions. And their patient, long-suffering parents, some of whom actually caught the frogs their kids were using in the contest.

I expected to walk into a brightly-lit gym, perhaps with the court divided up into lanes, with a kid eagerly holding his frog, waiting for the signal to release and let the little thing make its bid for freedom.

That, however, was not the case.

The hockey/lacrosse/soccer/whatever-else arena was dim and nearly empty. I walked in to find a group of parents and their children surrounding a circle about 15 feet in diameter. Each familial cluster had some kind of container alongside it. Every group had a bucket, tackle box, Tupperware, or even in one case a pink plastic hamper with a pig on it, holding at least one frog. Some kids had even decorated their containers with paint, glitter or stickers for the occasion. They were the ones who clearly did this often. And they were really into it.

They had strategies - picking a certain size frog. Some preferred using the straw to blow, some slapped the ground to get them to move. Some poked the poor captive's rumps when the judges weren't looking (that's against the rules).

The kids - and their frogs - went one at a time. The children had to coax their frogs to leap out of the circle faster than any other frog in the age group. There was a time limit, which was good, because some frogs had no interest in moving, no matter how hard their captors slapped or blew. And some kids, adorably, just froze up once they found themselves in the limelight, away from the shelter of Mom's or Dad's legs in the crowd of strangers.

At the end of the event, which took a couple hours, there was an awards ceremony. It was kind of cute - they had prizes and trophies with little rubber frogs on top. Of course, no trophy manufacturer makes such things. The organizers get them made specially by a trophy shop where the owner is willing to go out and buy frogs (think rubber duckies but a different species) to glue on top of the pedestals.

After the whole crazy spectacle, the kids were reminded to let their frogs go where they were caught. As opposed, I guess, to throwing a barbecue of frog legs.