The first time the road turned liquid, I nearly took a carload of people with me into the swamp.

By last night, however, it was old hat.

I swerved as best I could, calculating rear-axle angles in micro-seconds, down-gearing for non-skid deceleration, squinting and high-beaming to pierce the gloom (hoping no staggering drunk would suddenly appear in my headlights), all in a desperate attempt to save that important Polish resource: the frog, a staple in the diet of the beloved white storks.

After all, Poland is home to the largest stork colonies the world. (There are even villages in the northeast with more storks than people.) In fact, some locals go to great lengths for the bird: they custom-build nests, erecting concrete poles nearby their homes with storks nests atop.

Why the fuss? All over the world, storks have long been considered a potent symbol, an emblem of health, birth, regeneration, fertility. In early spring, peasants watch the skies for storks coming from warm countries. When a stork chooses to build a nest on the roof of a particular house, it is considered a very good sign for the owner, bringing him luck. Likewise, when a stork family abandons an already made nest, it is deemed unlucky.

The flat marshland of Poland is perfect breeding ground for both stork and frog. But when hundreds of frogs decide to cross the street (the swamp's always marshier on the other side, you know), driving on a wet, foggy night becomes a stark adventure.

The Frogs

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