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From Chapter 1
The Grand Visit
Once upon a place . . .
Most of the pond dwellers began to gather twenty-four hours
early. Those who came from the furthermost edges of the pond had
arrived some forty hours before that, which was important only if
you wanted to grab a good seat. Even the turtles knew that if you
wanted a spot up close or if you wanted one in the shade, you were
in terrible trouble if you didn’t get there in a hurry. The turtles
were great believers in a good spot so, as much as they could, they
hurried.
Especially lucky were the creatures that arrived early enough to
claim a place on the flat rock among the brilliant blue bellflowers,
elder blossoms, and fragrant gardenia, for all agreed they truly had
a superb view. And hovering above it all, Dragonfly kept a lookout.
There were many wonderful jobs around the pond, but on this day,
flitting and dancing around the roof of the world with delicate
wings of gauze, Dragonfly had a task that was the envy of all.
Having the optimum vantage point, Dragonfly was designated in charge
of rumor control.
As the crowd grew, the rumors of Ping’s arrival continued to
mount, so Dragonfly had the vital task of darting about spreading
truth. It was noontime on the dot when Dragonfly announced that
Ping’s splash time was imminent, then he cleared the air to make way
for what could only be described as an extraordinary straight and
fine leap of distance, followed by an oh, so colossal and
spectacular splash.
Those who were new to Ping’s glorious jumping thought, How
fantastic, and said so. Those whose memories were full of the
stories told said only this: are they ever right. Ping’s jumping was
much more than a thrill to behold—it was proof that the legend of
Ping the frog was pure.
Ping’s adventures had become fable, his inner metamorphosis
mythical. His transformative journey had brought Ping such notoriety
that it wasn’t any wonder a large group had amassed for the
spectacle of his appearance. Whatever else was to take place at the
pond that day, there was no denying that the moment belonged to the
honored visitor whose spring-legged leaps of distance they had heard
so much about.
Nimbly, Ping pulled himself up onto a lily pad, accepting the
hoorays and hazzahs, the waves and endless chants of “Ping, Ping,
Ping” caressing his ears. The crowd grew quiet only as it parted way
for its ancient ruler, the lordly Toad the Elder.
How long Toad the Elder had held the occupation of ruler, no one
knew. It had only come up for conversation once in recent memory at
the annual Bugfest, when Tortoise, who was then 106, remarked that
Toad had ruled the pond for as long as he could remember. That was
good enough for the rest. The pond dwellers loved tradition.
Whenever Toad the Elder took a break from dozing to totter out
and grumpily appear, he was greeted royally and with reverence, for
he represented the origin of origins, the deliverer of all that was
wise and wonderful.
Toad was from the pond, but his voice was from the clouds. It was
weak and wispy, and even the rabbits at the water’s edge had to tilt
their long ears to catch every word. So whenever Toad the Elder
chose to speak, the inhabitants of the pond listened closely.
Whatever Toad the Elder said, the inhabitants of the pond believed.
Toad made a gnarled, throat-clearing sound, raised his weakening
arms, and with a sweeping gesture said, “Today is a day of
salutation for the one who leaps great distances.”
Thunderous roar of cheers.
“Welcome to our home, the magnificence of all that exists. The
most glorious body of water ever imagined by any living being. From
here to there and from there to here, nothing could be more than our
pond.”
This was a declaration that Toad had stated before and stated
often.
“So tell me, Frog, why is it that you have devoted yourself to the
jumping that you do?”
“Always to further challenge the sky,” Ping impulsively beamed.
Toad glanced imperiously across his subjects and observed the
nods and smiles from the younger frogs. More precisely, he took note
of a whispering Daikon and Hodo, two of the more troublesome young
frogs ever spawned.
Even as tadpoles, Daikon and Hodo had not been easy. Their penchant
for venturing out too far from the safety of vegetation in the pond
shallows was a constant source of head-shaking among the adult
frogs. When the day came that Daikon and Hodo grew into the shape of
full-fledged frogs, they found that their affection for each other
grew as well. Daikon was sure of one thing: Hodo carried the colors
of the world in her perfect, glistening skin. And that was enough
for him.
In the whole long history of the pond, no two creatures had
enjoyed the close together time that they had spent chatting through
the afternoons, their days full, enjoying each other’s company,
questioning the certainty of their surroundings, and pondering the
very nature of their everyday existence. Their inquisitive spirit
and rebellious behavior had become an irritation to Toad, and today
was no different.
Toad snorted his disapproval at Daikon’s and Hodo’s brazen glee.
There was no understanding the young anymore. He turned away,
adjusted his royal robes. “So, then, from where is it that you have
come to visit us?” he asked Ping.
“From the Great Ocean.”
Bewildered silence from one and all.
A puzzled look clouded Toad’s old eyes. “Hmmm. I’ve never heard
of such a place,” he said. “But do not be overwhelmed by our most
marvelous pond. How much smaller is your ocean?”
“As with all things, Highness, the ocean should not be judged by
its size but by its openness,” Ping replied simply.
“Nonsense.” Toad made a show of proudly pointing out their
surroundings. “How many of your oceans would it take to fill our
pond?”
“With respect, I am delighted to tell you that the ocean is a
vast thing.”
“What do you mean, exactly? Do you mean to say that the ocean can’t
even begin to compare?”
Ping nodded. “It is true, there is no comparison.”
“As I thought,” Toad said, looking to his subjects. “But still,
how small is the ocean?”
“The ocean is not small; it is big.”
“Big? Big how? Is it half as big as our pond?”
Ping shook his head. “No. Bigger.”
The crowd began to stir.
The grouping of young frogs blinked in amazement.
Toad began to ponder the absurdity of the statement. “Is it as
big as our pond?” His voice was growing stronger.
“Bigger still. I guarantee you,” Ping answered. “All rivers pour
into it, yet it never overflows. It is constantly being drained, yet
it never empties. The seasons of spring and winter bring no change.
Floods and droughts also leave it unchanged. It is vastly superior
to both stream and pond. Majesty, forgive me. I don’t mean to
displease you, but your pond would not even be a drop in the Great
Ocean.”
The crowd gasped and looked to Toad the Elder.
Toad the Elder glared at Ping and boomed angrily, “What kind of
creature is this that visits us with such lies?” Toad had been tough
when he was younger, and he was still tough. “You speak heresy!”
“I speak the truth,” Ping replied.
“I promise you here and now that there is nothing bigger, nothing
more exciting, and nothing more fulfilling than our pond!”
Ping blinked, blinked again. His remarkable eyes looked at Toad
as if he had the power to see through him, which he did. With a
voice that could only be described as calm, he invited Toad and all
who would be willing to have both the courage and the curiosity to
take the journey of discovery, to follow him and see for themselves
how glorious and true the Great Ocean was, that a bigger world could
indeed be found outside their pond.
No one ever dared disagree with Toad. His ancient face began to
flush, his eyes blazed with fire. “such insolence!” Toad bellowed
furiously, sputtering spittle. “you invite me to see the ocean to
teach me, as if i don’t have any knowledge or wisdom? there is
nothing called ocean. there is nothing beyond the beyond. . . . ”
Toad the Elder continued the tirade without even taking a breath,
his voice strengthening and reverberating as his rage increased.
While his words hit Ping head-on, it should be noted, so did the bog
balls. The older pond dwellers had begun hurling bog balls at Ping,
quickly fashioning handfuls of muck and marsh into spherical scatter
splatters that pelted Ping from this way and that as they joined in
Toad’s roaring rage, fuming, screaming at Ping to leave their pond
for good. Some of the bog balls reached their target with remarkable
force and accuracy.
Furor...
Or, to be more specific, fury. And why Ping did not leap away was
not only a good question, clearly, it was the only question. Ping
stood his ground, blinked and winced and blinked some more, taking
the jeers and sneers and the bruising blows of the bog balls,
knowing that how you respond to others is always more important than
how they respond to you.
Finally, looking out at the youngest faces of the smallest pond
dwellers, Ping said, “What is greatly dreamed is nobly dared. . . .
The journey begins with you.” Then Ping jumped as straight and as
fine a jump as he had ever jumped, disappearing from sight, far into
the heavenly distance, gone.
The older creatures, satisfied, shouted yes! Two of the younger
creatures marveled with exuberance and very bravely shouted yes!
also.
None at the pond knew it then, but history was about to be
created.
Copyright © 2009 Stuart Avery
Gold
The Way of Ping: Journey to the Great Ocean
Published by Newmarket Press
January 2009
hardcover / 96 pages
ISBN-10: 1557048207
ISBN-13: 978-1557048202
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