Chugarum
Chugarum
“Chugarum,” said Grandfather Frog.
From the time I was a little girl until the day before my mother died, Grandfather Frog was woven into our lives. Anytime there was something wise to be said in our family, we’d say it with a low-voiced Chugarum.
Bedtime Stories
The Mother West Wind stories were an old collection of tales from my mother’s childhood that she lovingly introduced to my sister and me. Each story offered an explanation for why something in nature takes place:
Why did Jimmy Chipmunk have stripes?
Why did the Blue Jay holler “thief”?
Peter Rabbit would always find the wise Grandfather Frog by the pond to ask life’s pressing questions. And every answer, of course, began and ended with a deep “Chugarum” from Grandfather Frog
My mother spent many nights at my bedside reading and rereading those stories. Occasionally, my father would take over—and bless him—he was terrible at it. He read in the most monotone, boring voice, and I would be instantaneously asleep. (Perhaps that was Grandfather Frog’s way of reminding parents to reclaim a little time for themselves!)
But my mother, she read with excitement, with character, and with wisdom. She made the book come alive.
Gifting the Magic Back
As an adult, anytime I spotted a Mother West Wind book in an antique store, I would buy it for her. She didn’t need another copy, but gifting her those books was my way of giving back a little of the magic she had given me.
In our hearts, I think we all believed that my mother was Grandfather Frog. After all, she was the encyclopedia of our family—the one who always had an answer.
Family Language
Looking back, I’m amazed that one book, one set of stories, one little frog, could become so important in our lives. Like many families, we had our own collection of words, inside jokes, and odd references that became our traditions and defined who we were.
Our poor husbands had to learn this “family language” just to survive life within our walls. I like to think they’re better for it.
The Last Reading
The day before my mother died, I found my copy of the book. I sat by her side and read to her with the same enthusiasm and character she had always given me. For those moments, it was just us again—me, her, and Grandfather Frog.
That book gave me a way to share, to remember, and to surround her with the same love she had always surrounded me with.
A Tiny Frog, A Big Truth
You never know when a little inside joke, a memory, or a favorite book will become a brick in the foundation of your life.
It might carry you through hard days.
It might bring you a smile when you least expect it.
It might become the story you pass down to your children so they can imagine who you were.
Sometimes, it encourages you to make a new memory, sit a little longer at the edge of the bed (yes—even with teenagers), or just Chugarum to confuse the ones who have no idea what level of crazy you’ve reached.
Look closely at the little things. One day, a tiny frog on a lily pad might actually turn out to be a very wise, very big thing.
Chugarum.