Back when we were kids, Daddy and Granddaddy made a small pond out back of
the house, where the woods met the field that separates our two houses. At first, it was only a big mud hole, but as
time passed by it became a nice little pond where dragonflies dance among the
tall grasses that grew on the banks, and fish jump out of the water in the cool
of the evening catching one last bug for their evening meal. Sometimes when it was a hot, dry summer, the
water dried up to only a single deep spot on one end, but during rainy seasons,
the water overflowed the lower bank creating something of a marsh outside it.
It was a favorite place of ours when we were growing up. Daddy and Granddaddy loved to fish and the
goal was to create a place they could go fishing that wasn't so far from the
house. Today there are some good size
fish in there, and since folks that fish there now "catch and
release", it stays that way. It
never has been much of a swimming hole.
The mud on the bottom is pretty deep and oozes between your toes and
tends to want to get your feet stuck solid.
But just because we didn’t want to swim in it didn’t mean we didn’t want
to do other things there. There’s an air
of magic and solitude about an isolated little pond half surrounded by tall
trees, and the wildlife love it. We’d
hunt for animal tracks in the muddy banks every time we went down there.
A pond has its seasons, just like anywhere else, and we loved all of
them. In the coldest part of Winter, the
pond froze over. Daddy would always test
the ice by stomping around on it to make sure it wouldn't break through, and
then we'd be allowed to go out on it and slide around. Spring and Summer brought tadpoles and
dragonflies and butterflies (and, of course, fishing), with Fall bringing the
changing leaves drifting down onto the water, as grasses died back from First
Frost... as if to be tucking up the covers around the pond in preparation for
the cold to come.
Our family has always loved fishing as long as I can remember, and today's
generation is no different. Daddy and
Granddaddy used rod and reel type gear, but Daddy always kept a couple of cane
poles rigged and ready in the shed behind his workshop for us kids. He always went with us when we went to the
pond, and our intention was always to go fishing... however, that's not always
how it worked out. Something else that
catch our attention, and down the poles would go and we’d be off on some sort
of exploration or adventure.
The Springtime was when the frogs laid their eggs in the shallows of the
pond. We'd get a Ball jar (or an old
Duke Mayonnaise jar) from Mom, and scoop up some of the frog's eggs so we could
watch them hatch. Sometimes we'd just
scoop up pond water and tadpoles. Little
black wiggling dots with long tails waving behind, we'd watch them swim around
in the jar every day waiting for the magic to happen. We'd only keep them long enough to watch
their "magical" transformation from tadpole to frog, then let them
go. Waking up in the morning, checking
the tadpoles and finding out they had hind legs was always a thrill. Then it wouldn't be long before the front
legs appeared and their heads started looking more like a frog than a
tadpole. It was about this time that
we'd add a stick from the yard so they'd have some way to get out of the water
if they wanted to. Watching their wiggly
tail slowly disappear as they finished their transformation was as close to
magic as it comes.
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| Photo Credit: Pollywog Creek |
Daddy always taught us to respect the wildlife found around the house and
in the woods. Yes, he was a hunter and
fisherman, but he taught us not to kill for sport... only for eating purposes,
or for protection. Daddy knew about a
lot of things, from wildlife to the various kinds of trees... to how to build
and fix things, to gardening and how to keep the tractor running. We thought he knew how to do just about
anything. If he didn't know it, he knew
who to ask, and likely as not, his first go-to was Granddaddy.
The pond wasn't always for fishing in.
Sometimes it was just a nice place to visit and enjoy. It was during those visits that Daddy would
teach us things like how to skip a stone across the water. Choosing the right type of stone was
important. It had to be flat, and the
right size to wrap your index finger half way around the edge. Then he'd show us how to sort of lean to the
side, and spin the stone as it left your hand in such a way that it would be
parallel to the water. The end result
was that the rock would skip across the surface of the water, instead of
ker-plunk into it. As we got better at
it, the contest became how many skips could you make your rock do. The one that skipped it the most times won
the “match”. Two or three skips was
average. More than five was
fantastic. Daddy almost always won, but
it was fun just getting our rock to skip at all. More than twice was a victory to us.
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| Photo Credit: Wikipedia |
Sometimes our walks to the pond would turn into a walk into the woods with
Daddy instructing us on the types of plants and trees we'd pass by, pointing
out how to tell the poison oak from the other little plants, and ending up at
the branch that ran through the woods at the back of the property. If we were very lucky, we'd find salamanders
there, and would take a few back to the house for "salamander races"
on a wet picnic table in the back yard.
We always let them go after we'd finished the races, of course. Keeping a wild thing penned up wasn't allowed...
with few exceptions. Wild things
belonged in the wild, even if we wanted to enjoy them up close for a little while.
There was always something to do around there when we were growing up. Being bored was cured by just going
outside. Daddy was careful to teach us
how to be safe in the woods and respect all nature, and there was always
something waiting to be explored, learned, or watched. It’s small wonder that the outdoors brings me
such solace today.
"We didn't know we were growing up,
we just knew we were having fun."
~ Anonymous ~
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