“What are you doing?“ my wife asked with the same concern in her voice that she has any time I have a tool in my hand.
This time it was a shovel. I usually can do more damage with a hammer or drill. I am not handy. Yet I will still try to fix things — which usually puts me in a fix.
But back to her question. What was I doing? “I’m digging to China,” I said. “Or maybe to Tibet.”
When I was a kid, I actually took a globe and tried to figure out where I would end up if I dug straight through the earth for some 8,000 miles.
Her question was rhetorical, though. She knew the answer. I was digging a hole in our backyard to start the pond that I had always wanted. Yeah, she said something about us needing a pond as much as I needed a hole in the head.
I dug on. If not to China, I was at least going to dig until … well, until I hit the drainage pipe I didn’t realize ran through our yard at that angle. Cripes! I felt beaten. I slowly filled the hole back in and replaced the sod while pouting the whole time. My wife, meanwhile, kept her hands on her hips. We were talking again less than a day later.
A week went by and I cautiously tried again — this time in a slightly different location and with my wife out grocery shopping.
I didn’t hit any country in the Far East, but I didn’t hit any pipes, either. I had my hole. Two feet deep, four feet long, two feet wide, I was on my way. My own grave maybe, I thought, if I made another mess of things.
My wife begrudgingly let me continue. “As long as you put back the dirt and grass again when you decide your little project isn’t working,” she said.
I really wanted it to work. To be honest, I wanted to do a little tap dance on her skepticism.
I also wanted to hear the water gushing down a waterfall and into my pond. I wanted frogs chirping or croaking or whatever they prefer in the early evening. And i wanted to accomplish something just for the sake of my own personal satisfaction — I think I once read that on a poster.
I forged ahead.
Fast forward two weeks. With pond advice from my friends Leslie and Timm … with some lining and flagstone-positioning assistance from my friend Jim … and with electrical help from my friend Greg, I now have a pond and a pretty cool waterfall that runs down the hill in my backyard.
“It sounds like Niagara Falls,” was my wife’s initial reaction.
It sort of did. I loved it. But I rearranged some of the rocks to slow the flow and cut back on the decibels.
“The pond needs some plants both in it and around it,” she then added. I agreed. I looked at her. She looked at me. “OK,” she finally said. “I’ll do the plants.”
And so she did. Being the Master Gardener that she is, she did a great job. Now she thinks the pond is hers, too. I let her think that way.
Two others also took ownership — a green frog and some kind of brownish frog that showed up on their own. The green frog rides around on a lettuce-type plant and dives into the water when we get too close. The brown frog used to sit on one of the flagstones in the waterfall..
You noticed I said “used to,” right?
A few nights ago, we saw a great blue heron standing on top of our house with what looked like something in its mouth. Normally, I would love to see a great blue heron, but not if he is eating my frogs. When it dropped down by my pond, I shooed it away.
We haven’t seen the great blue heron since. We haven’t seen Brownie the frog, either. Nature can be like that.
Regardless, I love my pond and the good feeling I get every time I gaze at it and know that, yes, I created it.
I dug it. I dig it.