pond life - Wilma Robinson

W. F. Robinson - July 16 1975

During one of those excessively hot days last week, I decided to forego my usual trip - to the Polder Marsh and spend a few hours watching the - smaller, but no less interesting - life to be found in and around - the small pond we are lucky enough to have on our property.

A typical lowland pond, it teems with creatures of all shapes and sizes. The most - obvious one are the dragonflies - - blue ones, gold ones, and - occasionally red ones, all - constantly rushing to and fro - along the edges of the pond. A - large golden female was busy - depositing her eggs here and - there on the pond's surface, - pausing only long enough to - greet the male who hovered above, belligerently pursuing any passing rivals. The smaller damselflies were more methodical about their egg-laying. Resting on floating leaves or grasses, they curved their long slender bodies into an * arc and carefully deposited their eggs on the masses of algae just below the surface of the water. -

The sunlight, cutting through the murky waters of the pond, showed up the resting forms of bullfrog tadpoles, perched on the submerged algae like sunbathers on a beach. Water-striders skimmed jerkily over the top of the pond, their feet pressing dimples into the surface tension as they pursued they tiny leaf-hoppers struggling to escape from the same invisible force. Grasping the small insect in both “hands" they proceed to eat it, turning it like a cob of corn. Beneath them, in the water, lurked several backswimmers, also waiting for the unlucky Leaf-hoppers. One of them, having secured his prize, darted to the safety of an underwater branch where he devoured his prey in comparative peace. A sudden splashing interrupted my underwater study, and I looked up to see a large muskrat leave his den across the pond and swim in a very purposeful way up the left arm of the slough. A few minutes later he returned, dragging a long skein of grass behind him. Without a glance in my direction, he disappeared, with another loud splash, into his burrow. I gathered he was carrying home food to his small family within. A rush of wings startled me, and I turned to see a great blue heron land awkwardly beside the pond to my right. A small bush partly concealed me, and I waited motionless to see if he would move in my direction. I could see him eyeing me with nervous apprehension and after five or six excruciatingly long minutes, he decided I was not part of the scenery and flew off, scolding me with loud indignant "gronks". Following his noisy departure, silence again returned to the pond. Comparative silence, that is, because small bands of bushtits were busily searching

through the willows for insects, and their constant bell-like twittering provided a soft background music. This peaceful interlude was suddenly shattered by the booming “jug-a-rum" of a nearby bullfrog. Floating with only his head out of water, he lazily strummed a few notes, like a bass fiddler tuning up for the evening symphony. A small powder-blue butterfly fluttered down to land softly on my finger. Her coliled tongue stretched out and lightly explored the surface of my hand. Possibly looking for salt, she continued to lick her way across the back of my hand and up my arm to my shoulder. I shook her off then, and she fluttered back to my hand. I maneouvered her onto the tip of my finger and carefully picked up my camera with the other hand. Holding the butterfly at arm's length, and focusing with one hand, I managed to snap a picture. She was still reluctant to abandon her “salt lick” and left the field. it took quite a while to convince her to leave. -

As I picked up my equipment and prepared to depart, there was a rustling in the tree beside me and a mother wood duck appeared in the entrance hole of one of our nesting boxes. She surveyed the area for a few minutes before scrambling through the hole and flying quietly away to the river.

I climbed the hill above the pond, and looking back, I could see the dragonflies still pursuing their prey back and forth over the shallow water, while the females dabbed the surface of the pond with eggs. The muskrat was returning to his burrow with another load of grass and, on the far side, a large carp stirred the muddy bottom of the pond in his search for food. -

A world within a world, hatching and dying, eating and being eaten, the pond was their universe, and for a time I had been the proverbial “watcher at the pond".