Covered in a deep blanket of snow, the fenced backyard seemed perfect. I loved everything about this house, especially the ceilings: they weren’t stippled! I bought it. It was March.
The snow was gone when I took possession in early May. Looking towards the center of the yard I saw an untidy bunch of weathered boards. Moving the pieces aside, I was shocked to find an amoeboid-shaped pond, bordered by large rocks. There were peripheral lamps, an electrical outlet, a fountain, and a heck of a lot of dirty water, all of which had been overlooked in the real estate fact sheet.
I knew nothing about pond maintenance but what I did know that day was that my backyard and that pond were going to have all the bells and whistles necessary for a well-dressed yard. I went shopping.
The pond’s unexpected presence took precedence over anything indoors. I spent hours learning about fish and aquatic plants for what would become the most wonderful backyard oasis.
By mid-May, garden plants and a magnolia tree were planted.
By late May it was time to open the pond.
Three feet deep, the pond presented a port hazard for children. The gate needed to be strong and kept locked at all times. The fence needed to be stable. Then, sporting my new hip waders, I immersed my bottom half in frigid grub pond water for the first of many times. I slipped, fell, swore, and got the job done.
By June’s end flowers bloomed, water trickled, and gentle lights glowed as my friends joined me, sipping wine, and chatting, sometimes till sunrise. A pond’s calming power is wonderful.
And, of course, there were fish. Three goldfish, Eenie, Meanie, and Minie ( .. there was no Mo!). I loved watching them surface in anticipation of their grub before the first flake fell to their open mouths.
A wee grey rabbit, Harry, hopped by each morning for a carrot. A young garden snake, Gary, slithered around the rocks.
Many frogs lounged on water lily leaves between dives.
When the weather cooled both Harry and Gary cancelled their visits. More than one hundred uncooperative frogs had to be scooped from the water in order to overwinter safely.
Having read that fish can hibernate safely in a properly prepared pond, I followed the protocol and closed the pond, lowering the water level, and covering the pond with plastic and plywood. I tidied the yard, storing outdoor furniture, the hose, and tools. I was all set.
But that was prior to November tenth, the day my Toronto daughter arrived with a huge aquarium. In the presence of her siblings and their progeny, she insisted that the fish must be rescued from the pond, rescued from certain death.
I tried to explain my decision to follow the book. It didn’t work.
In spite of my protestations, all nine do-gooders rushed to the yard. I watched helplessly as my son sucked on the hose siphoning water from the pond. I heard the kids shriek when Eenie, Meanie, and Minie temporarily escaped the nets that would transport them to their winter residence, the aquarium.
When I refused to donate counter space to three goldfish it was decided that the trio’s custody would be awarded to Lise.
My ability to care for living things was questioned because of the missing frog population. I said, “I ate them!”
When my family left, I looked out at my once tidy yard. A light dusting of snow covered the grass. The hose snaked around the empty pond, and plastic and plywood were strewn. My lawn furniture was tipped over. And the fishy trio were sloshing their way west along the 401.
A year later only one fish lived in Toronto. He had changed his name to Luigi. I was told he didn’t want to see me.
Following my initial pond experience, I learned to plan winter accommodation for my fish before my well-meaning kids could intervene. For three years I put my finned friends in a plastic dog food pail and took them to a pet shop before the shop opened. When staff arrived, they would see that the pail’s occupants had finned a note that read, “Please adopt us. Our mother has left us and fled to Italy.”
And now, the fountain trickles, the water lilies bloom, and the fish-shaped candles float. I sit with friends, chat, and sip wine. We may well be there till sunrise.
By Joan Alexander