Surrounding our lovely 30 acres of forested land is some 500
acres, possessed either by absentee owners or by aging folks who stay at home.
It’s a blessing, because, not only do we have no close neighbors, but also we
have all that land we can wander through. On an adjacent 40-acre parcel is a lovely
little pond that was created by the owners building a dam across a holler,
years before we settled here.
One of my regular paths through the woods wanders by that
pond—where I love to pause and observe the wildlife that draws sustenance from
the water: amphibians, birds, deer, raccoons, insects, and myriad other
critters I’ve yet to spot. The pond is a beautiful mini ecosystem that provides
important habitat for all these creatures. In the winter, I can ice skate on
its frozen surface and in warmer times, I enjoy tossing sticks in the water for
the dogs to chase.
We also very much appreciate the dam holding back runoff from
the holler. We are downstream from it all and the pond stores a lot of water in
the wake of summer downpours, rather than let it roar threateningly by us.
Some 15 years ago, the overflow drainpipe for the pond rusted
and broke off. This pipe was originally installed to allow extra water to drain
from the pond, rather than let it build up to a level that might top the dam.
With the pipe broken, the pond quickly drained dry—stealing its nourishing
waters from all the wildlife. For the next few years, I continued to visit the
(now dry) pond, lamenting its loss. The owner lives somewhere out near the West
Coast and rarely visits his little Shenandoah Valley acreage. I have no way to
contact him and I guessed that he was not only unaware of the empty pond, but
most likely would be reluctant to pay for its repair, if he did know.
After a couple of years of hiking past the pondless pond and
longing for the good old days when it teemed with life, I secretly laid plans
to raise the pond, phoenix like, from the dry dust of the empty hole it had
become. The broken drainpipe that lay beneath the dam had to be stoppered. It
seemed to me that if I plugged the upper end of that pipe, maybe the pond would
rise again!
Laboriously, I carried several buckets of cement and water
overland, mixed them with some rocks from the dry pond bottom, and corked the
end of the pipe. I committed my clandestine act in broad daylight, glancing
guiltily over my shoulder more than once. Did I have any right to take this
action?
Skulking back home, I turned the project over to Mother
Nature. Sure enough, over the next year or so, the pond slowly refilled and
then I delighted when once again I heard frogs and saw newts swimming along.
The dragonflies returned and I occasionally saw deer hoof prints at pondside.
It felt great to see all the wildlife return, even though my conscience
occasionally gnawed at me. How would the owner respond to my reincarnation
work? Would he even know (especially if I kept my dirty little secret)?
Continued next time…
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