Wednesday, June 25, 2008

Nature in My Own Backyard

We have one of those backyard ponds that people across American suburbia installed in an an effort to bring a little bit of the beauty of pristine nature next to their chemically enhanced lawns. We didn't install it, mind you, it came with the house. I am sure it was beautiful when it was first ensconced, a two tiered creation with a stone border that mimicked a mountain creek, the tinkling sound of running water causing children swinging in the vicinity to rush indoors for yet another potty break. Now it is a stagnant mosquito farm, rank with the smell of wet rotting leaves, quarried stones askew, black tarp peeking through the gaps. K, my husband, tested it when we first moved in and found we had a leak somewhere in one of the ponds, and we had yet to do anything about it. We had two options: fill it or fix it. K is opting for fix it.

I am supportive, honestly I am. But I have been married to this man for 13 years, and I know his limitations better than he does. And while starting home improvement projects might be his forte, finishing them is not. This project starts in the usual way, with lots of discussion. He has big plans for the one foot deep plastic ground insert. He wants to create a waterfall effect leading into the top part of the pond, with stacked stone for the water to tickle down. Which will require him to dig out the top part to a new depth, and retarp the whole thing after cleaning out all the muck, then restoning the edges, and finally filling the whole thing with fresh water and a functional pump system as opposed the current one residing in the depths. And then there will be some additional landscaping to surround it, perhaps the introduction of a delicate weeping willow, some climbing vines in the background. That is more or less what he has in mind. I would know more definitively if I actually listened, but after the fourth time of reviewing what to do with the pond, I stopped paying attention to him and instead turned to picking my cuticles and replaying that new Weezer song in my head.

The first step to this intensive project, which if done properly will take us approximately three years to complete, is the deconstructing of the current cess pool. First we had to study it to decide the best way to proceed. While we were outside doing that, my daughters and I discovered we had a visitor, a box turtle whom we named Shelby. We name all the box turtles we find in the back yard Shelby. S, my 6 year old, is optimistic it is always the same turtle, but E, my older daughter, is quite aware of the harsh realities of the world, and can tell this Shelby is an imposter because its eyes are orange and not red like the other Shelbys. S wants to pick up the turtle to snuggle it, since there is nothing snugglier than a box turtle. And then she wants to deposit it into the black water. K tells her no, snuggling is out because of the risk of salmonella, and that putting that poor turtle in the water is akin to someone plucking her out of her own warm bed and tossing her into an icy cold pool. While not the most accurate of analogies, it nonetheless does the trick, and she opts to set Shelby near the pond, which I hope is close enough to encourage it to dine on the myriad of biting insects we are breeding in that corner of the yard. Finding Shelby was a lot of excitement, so we had to wrap up the first part of our project there, waiting a few more nights to rethink the plan before any actual deconstruction could take place.

A few evenings later, after I ate too much Chinese takeout and felt the need for a little exercise, I suggested we go back outdoors and begin moving the rocks and stones into organized piles. We all put on our shoes and trudged into the back yard, but then had to come back in for work gloves, then go back out. After a thorough search for Shelby, who was hiding cleverly in the monkey grass, we began the task of sorting and piling the rocks that surround the pond. Of course that started with more discussion and ground rules, namely no rock throwing, as these were no ordinary rocks, but rather expensive ones, due to the value of rocks in our affluent neighborhood, and thus should be gently placed rather than tossed, which could lead to breakage. So we all stood near the rocks, and took turns picking them up, one by one, and stacking them neatly in a new pile. S picked up the next rock and threw it, breaking it in two. She was now excused from further rock moving and sorting, which left her to go spy on Shelby and laugh at him.

One thing I have learned about moving rocks, especially near a supposed body of water: you are disturbing the peace for someone/something that lives there. Perhaps a family of roly polies, a fresh ant colony, or in our case, the freakiest looking centipedes you have ever seen. These are not the run of the mill centipedes with orderly legs of identical length. These are fast moving creepy ones with legs of all sizes poking out of its disgusting little body, and they really give me the heebie jeebies. Yes, I screamed like a little girl. And I also threw a rock. We were done for that night.

Last night, after dinner, we went out to check our demolition progress. And surprisingly, we did get a fair amount done prior to my freaking out. The rocks were mostly moved, revealing almost all of the tarp that the previous owners most likely laid down in an attempt to stop the leaking that we knew had occurred from the top part of the pond to the bottom. K was able to get close to the tarp to see what it looked like underneath. He pulled one corner up, then shrieked and jumped back. S and E stopped looking for Shelby long enough to see what had disturbed their father. "Snake!" he yelled. Now, I am no Einstein, but even I know you don't yell snake at two little girls if you want them to ever step foot in their backyard again. "What kind?" I asked from a safe distance. "Copperhead, I think." He said this with all the authority of a US Federal Parks ranger. He could not have seen it for more than three seconds. "How can you be so sure?" I questioned. He pulled at the tarp again, but saw nothing this time. "I'm not," he admitted. "It was brown with a stripe. It probably lives down there." And with that, the girls and I headed back inside, to watch America's Funniest Home Videos, since we missed our opportunity to film what had just happened in the backyard.

I have no idea when we will continue this project. The fourth of July is around the corner, when our attention will be on more important things, like what to grill, what to drink, and how many legal fireworks to buy. I for one plan to avoid that corner of the yard, opting instead to enjoy the new porch furniture. Between the snake, the mosquitoes, and the centipedes, I have a feeling that the decimation of the backyard pond has been placed on hold until further notice. Or at least until we can locate Shelby again.