The Pond

(again from a work in progress, The Beaver Diaries)

I could never find the headwaters of the flow that feeds the pond. A large steel pipe protrudes from the bank of the concession road, disgorging its contents. In spring the flow is an angry rush that comes shooting out of the pipe but by midsummer it is reduced to a lazy stream. I suppose it drains the fields of the vegetable farm to the north, but I could discover no trace of it.

From the road the land drops steeply into the ravine, and the water falls from the tube the last 5 feet into a splash hole. From there it heads south, carving a meandering course through the soft alluvial sediment held together by tall grass and shrubs. Eighty feet in, it turns east through a hedge of pines to come upon the access lane from the side. A quick thaw, a sudden downpour adding to the runoff from the hillsides, dramatically increases the volume and energy of the creek that rushes head on at the access lane. Brown with silt, the swollen stream tries to squeeze through the two pipes buried under the laneway, but at times the overflow crests the bank and floods the road surface. On the other side, it quickly descends a good ten feet to join up with the pond an easy stone’s throw further on.

The rush gentles, and like a cloud, the silt spreads through the becalmed volume of standing water. 90 feet on the far side, the water finds a spillway over an earthen dam and tumbles 10 more feet, to lose itself under the tangle of branches and roots of water-loving shrubs. Heading due east still, it traverses the short distance to cross under the link wire fence to empty into an even larger artificial lake on the neighbouring property.

Actually, the pond was not always there. When my parents bought the 50 acres back in the late 70’s, all this was a swamp of reed infested soft muck, but no open water. It would flood with the season and drain to feed the lake next door.

My father had the middle of this wetness dredged, uncovering a number of springs below that doubled the inflow. At its largest, the resulting pond extended about 90 feet with maybe 25 at its widest. On the far end an earth dam held the water captive, the overflow finding its way over it to collect 10 feet below and continue eastward.

In its infancy, the pond was 14 feet at the deep end, the water refreshingly cool and clear, excellent for swimming. I spent many hours drifting about wedged into a truck inner tube, just tracking the clouds above, afterward sunning myself in the lush grass of the bank.

With rains and floods over the many years, the pond gradually silted up, with a deposit of pure clay washed out of the surrounding soil. Treading a way through this was sheer sensual pleasure, of silky smoothness caressing one’s flesh. During one bush party thrown by renters (of the cottage) I came across a couple making love, half in, half out of the water, plastered by this clay. I quietly withdrew but I always wondered afterward how that enhanced the experience.

With time the whole ecosystem transformed itself. Now sedge, water lilies and pond weed proliferate in the shallow end, overlooked by tall cane that wedged itself into the soft muck, giving shelter to varieties of frogs and aquatic insects. Tadpoles swim confidently among the stalks, silver sides of minnows flash as they dart away from any shadow and long-legged water bugs skim on the surface. A tribe of frogs moved in, and loudly advertise their presence.

In the dry season, when the water recedes a little, a strip of mud is uncovered, in which all the visitors leave their calling cards. The hoof prints of deer sink deep into the black muck when they drink in the morning; racoons leave their paw prints, as do possums, squirrels, rabbits, chipmunks and an occasional muskrat just passing through. Like hieroglyphs, the claw marks of birds are everywhere: webbed for the more aquatic, sharp and deep for the ones used to clasping branches and twigs. A rare sighting are the peculiar s-marks of a snake winding its way across the moist flat. But the high summer sun soon bakes the exposed mud into a hard crust that cracks as it shrinks.

Most times, the air is filled with swarms of insects. Mosquitoes, midges, dragonflies, damselflies, deerflies and the seasonal mayflies. Birds swoop into the clouds of them. Butterflies give a flash of colour, opening and closing their wings in display. Bees visit the plants, bumblebees drone about loudly. The sharp buzz of a dragonfly fades in and out. An army of grasshoppers pop in and out of the sweet grass and the wild rye, bouncing off the unwary visitor trying to push through the waist high tangle. Preying mantises cling to stalks, sharp toothed bugs chew on the broad leaves. Spider webs span twigs and stalks, the host patiently awaiting visitors. A ladybug climbs to the top. Aphids scurry about and beetles browse the bark of a solitary elm.

On higher elevations, ant hill mounds raise themselves amidst the grass and wild strawberries. Moss and lichen cling to the few rocks poking through the soil. Animal trails cut through the vegetation, and matted down grass shows where deer have spent the night. A fox family dug a den into the hillside, unearthing a weep of yellow soil. The hole is abandoned now, though field rats move in from time to time.

From somewhere a willow mysteriously found a home on one bank and grew to majestic size, trailing its switches in the water below. On the other side sumacs multiplied, claiming more territory from year to year. Farther off pine and poplars crowd each other. A few Tamaracks, ash, alder and ghostly birches insinuated themselves into the press. On the property line a magnificent American beech spreads its limbs and branches to shelter a few ferns. In one corner, pussy willows thrive. Holly, blueberry, dogwood bushes fill in the rest. Swamp milkweed add a spray of rose-purple to the colour spectrum. South of the pond, a profusion of cattails, bulrushes and horsetails hide an alternate water course that drains the bypass overflow. In autumn the place is taken over by goldenrod as contrast to the crimson glow of the sumacs. Cattail seed heads shed their silky white strands.

Canada geese are regular visitors, especially at migration times. They collect on an open field to feed, but come to take a drink or bathe and preen themselves. It is a rush to see their take off, the short run, the powerful strokes, the white line they draw on the surface. As well a host of mallard ducks and an occasional heron put in an appearance.

The trees are full of nests, best seen in winter among the bare branches. Red winged blackbirds flash by, bluejays chatter noisily. Robins, cardinals, killdeer, orioles and goldfinch find shelter among the pines. A sandpiper patrols the flats; a woodpecker hammers at the trunk of a dead tree. Crows wheel about, having spotted some opportunity on the ground. An owl is perched on a high branch, scanning for movement in the view. An occasional hawk also shows an interest, circling lazily above. In the evening dusk, barely visible, bats flit by, hunting moths.

The focus of the site is the view of open water that mirrors the mood of the sky. The breeze rustles the leaves, ruffles the surface, making the sun dance on the ripples. A dry leaf sails like a boat back and forth until caught by the press of reeds near shore. Sometimes the pond broods under a cloud, waiting for the rain to start. The depth is often hidden by reflections of trees leaning out over the water, the lilies sunning on top. The dark bottom absorbs the light, blind to what goes on above. Frogs jump in to disturb the surface even more.

In ten years, the water washed itself a lower spillway over the dam, the water level dropped 4 feet and the bottom rose to a mere three feet and biology took over completely. The underground springs silted up, reducing the inflow. A scum of algae accumulated on top, pushed around by variable winds. In the shallows, reeds became thicker, and an eruption of cattails crowded the banks. Every step stirred up a stink of rot and slime. The insect population exploded. The geese came less frequently though the ducks were less choosy about the cleanliness. The deer still came to drink at night, and there were prints of racoons in the mud where they hunted for frogs.

By slow degrees, the picturesque paradise open to the sun and the sky, reverted to its primordial origins. It was shrinking, closing in. Less and less of it was visible from the road as a curtain of bushes screened off the view. Tall grass now hides the path we once walked to enjoy the swimming hole. Clouds of insects swarm in the air where we had sunbathed between refreshing dips. From a civilized park it had become a regenerating conservation area, surrendering to nature.

Still it remains a cross road. Trails of animals converge on it and radiate out in all directions. It is not unusual to catch a whiff of a skunk and have time to retreat from an encounter. Coyotes regularly pause to look over the place, seeking targets of opportunity. Sometimes wild turkeys gobbling in the undergrowth, heading to grouse in the higher fields. Voles and moles make their burrows in the lee of some shelter.

In winter the pond freezes over, a little thinner where the inflow eats away at the underside of the ice. Snow accumulates on top, showing the track of every inhabitant. I read the prints and from time to time take a census. There is a feral feline that regularly passes through; it is a mystery how she survives the rigours of winter. Prints of a neighbouring dog document his explorations. The symmetric marks of a rabbit are easily recognizable. Then a mouse track hardly visible as it scurries its light weight over the sun-hardened crust.

Infrequently a splash of red soaks into the snow, where a poor creature has found its end, victim of a predator. An owl preens itself in the crown of a tree; it can hear the mice in their tunnels dug into the snow. The pond is an epicentre of activity, attracting creatures large and smell. Not least, humans come to visit. And why not, it is one of the most recognized feature on the 50 acres. "I’ll meet you at the pond;" no one will get lost.