Pond Love

Since last year I have been fighting a battle with Algae (blanket weed) in the pond. The pond sits in sun and the lilies don’t shade enough of the surface water to stop the dreaded blanket weed from thriving. High levels of nutrients within the pond from the tap water used to initially fill it only add to the problem.

During the last month of sunshine and drought I have had to fill the pond with yet more tap water and, in the sunlight, great big green bubbling carpets of slime have been menacingly clouding the water.

For some reason I have taken this very personally. Having thought about this I have come to the conclusion that the pond being “clean” and “beautiful” for me is a symbol for the beautiful organic haven I am trying to nurse this derelict brownfield site back to. And so the Blanketweed has become a very personal failure.

As I dredge the endless green tresses out, although the pond is teaming with life, all I see is a comment on my failure to manage this little kingdom and give a home to nature.

As a sealed ecosystem the pond is fascinating and getting it “right” has become something of an ecological crusade. I am arrogantly trying to ‘naturalise’ a completely man-made artificial habitat. I have sited the pond in a place where my designer’s eye would like it, but in reality a space that still water would never collect. The pond sits surrounded by intensively farmed fields of rapeseed and wheat. Although it appears a picturesque pastoral scene, – it is in fact industrial farming and my pond is suffering from all the fertiliser, pesticides and herbicides that drift in. Ponds are closed systems, so, any pollution or change in “balance” immediately affects the life within it and can be seen noticeably. They are the most amazing barometers of how chemical-free and balanced your environment actually is.

I wanted a pond primarily because I want my garden to be a modern wildlife garden. When we arrived here the land had been mauled and scarred by two centuries of industrial farming and misuse. In 1800 earth was moved and clay imported to make the canal. Then in 1860 the railway line was carved out of the land and piled high with ballast and all the requisite pollution that a railway brings. Then there was the dairy farm itself with its cesspit and concrete slurry yard. The industry was gradually abandoned and from the 1980s onwards buddleia, bramble, birds and badgers gradually reclaimed the land. Then we arrived, one hot day in May 2011, and I fell in love with this place.

My first memories are of land: the rolling pastures of the Exe valley. My father’s family stems from there: living in the same thatched cottage that my grandfather, his father and his father lived. A lineage of land workers: my illiterate great grandfather was a Warrener (rabbit catcher). My grandfather was a rural science teacher and my guide…. We would go for long walks along the river Exe spotting kingfishers and otter evidence… as we walked he talked and wove tales about the place and us, us and the place, binding me to the landscape. And as a young child I looked at the red soil of the riverside and the tall waving heads of grass and the skies full of screaming swallows and my sprit took root… this was when I became an environmentalist.

My depression about the pond is a symptom of more troubling worries about the state of our world and the environmental catastrophe that we are living in and my complicity in it. We are all of us living from nature in an economy that doesn’t value it whatsoever. The endless cleaning of the pond seems like an apposite purgatory, – a never-ending backbreaking penance.

So this is why the garden has to be beautiful and the pond has to thrive because they are my token effort at rebalancing and a deep expression of love, care, and respect for the natural world.

I am desperate for this image conscious world to see that beauty, particularly natural beauty, needs to be deep in order to be meaningful… deep, transparent, and full of love….Right to the bottom of the pond.

Update: The 24th of May was a hot day and the emperor dragonfly nymphs hatched into dragonflies in their droves…

I counted 25 discarded skin casts on the Pontederia alone.