September 03, 2002

Home Again, Home Again

When we would leave home back when the kids were small, upon returning, we would say "home again, home again, frigitty frog". We still say this, and the kids have their own kids. And I have no idea where this silly tradition came from. A nursery rhyme of favorite book, perhaps? If anyone recognizes this silly phrase, I stand to be enlightened. Meanwhile, friggity frog. I am home again, but to my new home here at

Thanks to all who have been supportive; and to those who NOW are coming out of the woodwork telling me the doors stick and the plumbing leaks here at our new home. Where were you last week when I was begging for FEEDBACK!? :-}

Of course, you have all experienced it. The first day and first week in a new house. All the odd smells, the strange creaks and groans during the night, the funny way the rooms are arranged, and you can'd find a blessit thing. I'm there. It will take a while to feel comfortable here and invest the place with my own little tweaks...some color for the header and sidebar, maybe a weekly new image somehow for the header background would be nice. Not that I have the first idea about how to pull that off. It will come.

Good news. A few readers of the old Fragments are already finding their way over here (if you're reading this now, you are probably one of them). Even better, there have been some new visitors who even linked to Fragments using the new address. Hot diggity friggity frog!

Readers of Fragments have been sent the way of Eeksy-Peeksy several times in past weeks, where you can participate in his eloquent 'beginner's eye' viewing of dragonfly sex and mud puddle worlds:

This afternoon on an empty dirt road through the woods red squirrels leaping and spiders hanging still I crouched by a rut from the wheels of a foresters truck. It had filled with brown water and living things.

A small soft frog, king of the local predator pyramid, bellied up on to the mud, sat on a promontory ten times his height, and looked out on his lake. There was an almost invisible hover of insects over the water. They hatch, eat, mate, and die in and over this puddle. [...]

And check out Viviculture, a Fragments-compatible blog from Minnesota where Kurt has plans for elaborating on his Nature, Garden and other little nooks some day soon. You might ask: What is viviculture?

vi vi cul ture (n) - [vivi : life + culture : an integrated pattern of knowledge, belief, and behavior that depends upon our capacity for learning and transmitting knowledge to succeeding generations] 1. the practice of caring for, improving or promoting the development of life 2. an appreciation, respect and reverence for life

Viviculture is an approach to life - to living. What it means is very much a work in progress. I don't pretend to do everything I talk about on this site all the time. They are goals, and some days I do much better than others. Over time I just hope to get closer.

So. We're different but the same, here at Fragments new home. I look forward to seeing all of ya'll who might wander down on Goose Creek... newcomers and old familiar faces alike. We're about to slide into a new season together, when it will feel so good to come into the house from the cold winds, pull up to the woodstove and sit down in that favorite old chair, and curl up with a good book.

Posted by fred1st at September 3, 2002 11:59 AM | TrackBack

We said "Home again, home again, hippity hop!" Similar -- must be some common thread there, certainly a froggy theme. Maybe Wind in the Willows?

Posted by: Robin at September 4, 2002 06:06 PM

I have explained it all. I was going to post it to the comments here, but got long-winded and blogged it instead.

Gracias por la inspiracion.

Posted by: bigwig at September 10, 2002 04:59 PM

My grandfather, Alfred Tobin, used to tell stories about Friggity Frog to my mother who was born in 1918. Where did you get that term? I used to be told the stories too, but sadly do not remember much of them. Friggity Frog lived under a bridge.....

He was Born about 1880............his father was
Richard Tobin b. Ireland about 1840

Posted by: Peggy at June 8, 2004 12:17 AM

It's an old English nursery rhyme. I found it in my book of Mother Goose:

"To market, to market, to buy a fat pig;
Home again, home again, dancing a jig.
To market, to market, to buy a fat hog;
Home again, home again, jiggety-jog.
To market, to market, to buy a plum bun;
Home again, home again, market is done."

How the frogs got in there I just dont know?! Maybe they were the ones doing the jig? The things I do for Uncle Fred. *=)

Posted by: India at September 6, 2004 09:37 AM

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