At school the lawn banks toward a shady northern wall by a sprinkler oozing puddles where every spring male frogs mount female backs and fertilize eggs as they’re laid in water. We never notice the tadpoles that first emerge but are delighted by the sudden appearance of hundreds of baby frogs. Initially they’re fingertip-size and so cute people coo and take pictures. Sometimes the frogs seem to wait until classroom doors open and then hop inside before adult students rise and gently carry them out. When they stray from cool damp safety and hop around on hot dry concrete, where some either dehydrate or are stepped on, I tell them, get back over there, you’ll be safe, and spread my arms, waving and walking in the right direction. Many scurry toward home. They learn fast and seem to triple in size the first week. Soon, they’ll be gone, going where little frogs go.