Pond Therapy

Last night, we floated around our pond in an inflatable boat.

This is something we have done since we first dug the pond several years ago. Around sunset, we get in the boat and float around until we decide to go in. Sometimes we talk; other times we sing. Occasionally the guitar finds its way into the boat; other times there is just comfortable silence. Stargazing and bat watching tend to happen. The only rule is that nothing stressful or negative is allowed on the pond.

Sarah and I are both convinced that the divorce rate would plummet if every couple had a pond and a row boat.

It has been a very fulfilling summer, but a very frustrating one, too. There has been almost no down-time. Not counting firewood expeditions, we have only been to the mountains twice!! It seems like this summer has been one hard job after another, made more frustrating by my uncanny ability to find every conceivable wrong way to do something before stumbling on the correct way. We're both really, really tired, in a way that couples aren't supposed to be until they have kids.

And we had only done pond therapy twice all summer. The pond is clear and clean (benefits of the new liner) and more beautiful than ever, but the days have left us more in the mood for collapsing into bed than for inflating a boat. Amazing how stress and exhaustion reduce life to mere survival.

But last night, the evening was cool, the chicks were bedded down, the sunset was spectacular, and the work was done for the day. I blew up the boat. We got in and shoved off, and almost immediately the world changed. The waterfall drowned out barking dogs. The water level was low enough that we didn't have to worry about prying eyes. Sarah and I were alone in the world. Alone, and thankful.

We talked about how good it is to have a pond and a boat. How wonderful it is to have water clear enough that we could actually see fish from the boat! How blessed we are to live in a place where we can see the Milky Way from the front yard. How amazing all of our trees and bushes are doing. How good it will be to have fresh eggs and fried chicken all winter, with lots to share. We shared favorite childhood memories, and discussed the amazing spiritual journey from which God seems to have returned us--changed, but safe and sound.

Around ten, the timer turned off the waterfall, and everything was still. Sarah had brought along a flashlight for the walk back to the house, and we got it out and shined it into the clear water. In a couple minutes, the light had attracted a swarm of water fleas. Now, unlike their terrestrial namesakes, these critters are not nasty parasitic insects. What they are is almost-microscopic crustaceans, relatives of those hideous sea creatures we pay lots of money to eat at fancy restaurants. They eat single celled algae, and are thus largely responsible for our crystal-clear water. They, in turn, are good chow for fish, and are thus largely responsible for some rather obese goldfish and minnows.

The baby minnows showed up first, eating the water fleas, darting around in the light. Then we started shining the light all over the pond. Everywhere we pointed it, something amazing. Fat goldfish, deep crimson in the night, some of whom we haven't seen for weeks. Bugs. Even the rocks in the pond look different by flashlight.

Today we cut two loads of firewood. I mowed hay for the chickens. Dirty, hard, hot work. But last night, for a little while, we remembered what all the hard work is for. And for a little while, the world was perfect.