Broken Ponds
Life was restored by leaning into the brokenness, adding new roots, and refusing to rebuild the old, frail system.
When I moved into my current house on the northwest corner of what some refer to as the Austin “box”, I became the caretaker of a backyard koi pond. It seemed like a manageable quirk to have such a responsibility written into my lease, but I was still a little wary. The most experience I had caring for fish was an ill advised dorm room beta and that was twenty years ago.
Honestly, it was nice at first. We had happy orange koi splashing about and the calming sounds of the burbling water pump every day. I kept an eye on the water levels somewhat obsessively during the worst of the heat and noticed the pump didn’t always seem to work that well. That pump would be the death of many things.
Summer gave way to September and the next threat to the pond was the old ash tree that looms above my little enclosed oasis. It was starting to turn. I was warned by the owner in advance that the leaf drop would be a pain, so I rigged a bird net over the face of the pond to help me manage the thin, golden leaves that could suffocate my little foster fish. I hated it. The net looked awful and it prevented the birds from accessing the water. I stopped seeing dragonflies and one hilarious and horrible afternoon, I had to rescue a squirrel caught by it’s leg. We were both traumatized by the experience and we agreed that I should throw the net away.
Despite my Sisyphean efforts at manually scooping the leaves, the water grew murkier every day as the pump continued to struggle along. That pump… Still, the fish survived the winter and that spring the water seemed alright. My singing frogs and birds and bugs all came back to the little pond. Crisis averted. It was during that second summer, with drought and even lower water levels, that the pump began to give out and we lost the first of the koi.
I’m not too sensitive about dead fish but I was somewhat relieved that it was the owner’s fault. I called him to come check on things, concerned about the pump not working well and the low water levels. He accidentally added too much tap water at once, apparently, and… oh, dear. I went to bed that night wondering how to dispose of my piebald friend but by the next morning the body was gone. That’s when I learned we have a very active owl population in my neighborhood. Who knew?
My broken pond with algae bloom
The pump held on for a few more months, dribbling to a halt right before the world turned sideways from the pandemic. By then, the owls had taken the rest of the koi, living and otherwise, and I had a stagnant, mosquito breeding mess on my hands.
Almost everything living in the pond depended on that pump. Once it was gone, all that remained was the algae. It felt like the dumbest thing in the world at the beginning of a depression to buy a new pump and try and install it myself but to my great relief, there was another, low-cost solution. I’m now the proud caretaker of a naturally maintained pond. No pump necessary.
Turns out, the British love natural ponds and have made lots of adorable videos all about them. I had to make a few adjustments for the climate, avoid invasive species, and seek out native plants, but it wasn’t all that difficult. I learned what plants oxygenate the water to help prevent algae, prep it to sustain fish, and what would thrive on the surface and attract butterflies in the spring. The British gardeners were so cheerful and certain but I was once again wary. This seemed too easy. As it was the cheapest, most palatable option available to me, I started ordering plants.
There’s a lot of dramatic tension in ordering aquatic plants online during a pandemic, at the height of a Texas Summer, when the mail has been disrupted. The boxes would arrive and I would rip them open immediately, hoping the little stems of water hyssop had made it to me alive. One poor bunch of hornwort somehow survived being left in the package drop box for two whole days at the end of July. Once unboxed, I just… threw them in the water. That’s it. It’s the most anti-climatic gardening possible.
I couldn’t get as many as I would like but there were enough to eventually take over the pond. The transformation was slow but obvious. The algae bloom died back almost completely in two weeks. The water turned from a clouded, sickly green to clear and, well, pond colored. In less than twelve weeks, both the surface and submerged plants have spread across the pond and mosquito fish will be able to join them at the start of next spring. The whole project cost me about half the price of a new pump with none of the installation efforts. I just never thought it would work.
It’s been a joyful, amusing surprise to watch the steady transformation of my broken pond to new health and vitality. The entire process should be complete by wildflower season. All I did was check the mail often enough. I’m a happy spectator or maybe a steward.
Yes, it’s a metaphor. Clearly. I have something particular in mind but I think I will leave it up to you to determine the object for yourself. Many will apply. A man-made system was so fragile that a single point of failure killed all but the most aggressive species within. Life was restored by leaning into the brokenness, adding new roots, and refusing to rebuild the old, frail system.
