The town lies on the shore of Green Bay where, in just two days that summer, an estimated 175 million frogs — yes, million — emerged from local marshes. According to one observer, they "practically enveloped the town. The explosions of amphibians beneath the wheels of automobiles at night sounded like rifle fire. People mowing their lawns did so in a storm of flying frog legs and truncated frog bodies."

It was an ecological fluke. Lake Michigan usually rises in the spring and floods the local wetlands where leopard frogs lay eggs. As summer advances, the waters recede and most of the eggs die. But in 1952, the lake remained high, allowing a huge frog hatch.

In a news report, a frightened resident "said they had besieged his house one night in what he swore was a highly organized way. He had gone out on his front lawn to have a look around with his flashlight and had been confronted by a million shining little eyes. He started toward the backyard and found that he had been outflanked. He swung the light around and discovered that the whole house was encircled."

Townspeople joked about calling the National Guard and eating frog legs, but nothing could be done. Besides, there was a silver lining: fewer mosquitoes.

The lake eventually receded and lured the frogs out of town.

— Wisconsin Historical Society
www.wisconsinhistory.org

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