Pond Life – the harsh realities
Crikey did it rain over Half Term! The pond overflowed and the ground under the fruit trees was so waterlogged that they started keeling over. Mr Darnbrough and I were out there hauling them back into the vertical and trying to wedge them upright. There was no point banging new posts into the ground, they would have fallen over too.
The flooding subsided fairly quickly once the rain finally stopped but since then we have not seen a single tadpole. At first I had visions of them being stranded in the grass and “asphyxiating” as the water level receded but now I have come to the sad conclusion that they have probably all been eaten - either by the fish, the newts or the heron.
I have been feeling desperately sad about this but it seems that I am alone. Everyone else just laughs at me when I tell them, or says that it’s nature and I shouldn’t get upset about it. They have a point, but sometimes it’s hard not to intervene to try and protect the things that you care about. The trouble is, at times like this, you’re not sure what you are meant to be protecting.
The circle of life, in particular the carnivorous portion of it, has been very active in the pond over the last week. We have been receiving daily visits from a local heron, which seems intent on relieving us of the last remaining fish and may also be responsible for the recent reduction in sightings of frogs and toads.
It is quite exciting to look out of the window at 7 o’clock in the morning and see a heron standing little more than twenty feet away from your bedroom window. In other circumstances I would have been entranced, but this one was after “our” fish and frogs. In spite of a lot of arm waving and yelling from me, it didn’t seem in that much of a hurry to leave. Mr Darnbrough suggested that this was because it had a full stomach . . . he received a “look” in return for his poorly timed attempt at levity.
The heron has only been one of our difficulties. I am now wondering about the fate of all the little frog and toadlets that we have raised in the tank and then released back into the pond. Yesterday, Eldest Son and I released seven of them. We were crouching happily by the pond watching them make their way to freedom when we saw one of them being consumed by a newt: it had only been in the pond for five minutes . . . . Life in the state of nature for this little scrap was very definitely of the Hobbesian variety: “nasty, brutish, and short”.
Eldest Son was clearly a bit shocked at this display of pond “realpolitik”. He wanted to try and save the toadlet but by the time we saw what was happening it was already halfway down the marauding newt’s throat; we got a good view of its little arms waving about helplessly and then it disappeared for ever beneath a lily leaf.
Eldest Son was enraged: “Next time I see that newt I’m going to kill it!” at which point Mummy (who was feeling rather upset herself) was left to explain that her favourite amphibians were carnivores and would not have understood what all the fuss was about. (I was also forced to reflect that the heron would have felt the same way.)
Later in the day, I confessed to Eldest Son that I was still feeling rather sad about the fate of the toadlet. He appeared to have already ‘moved on’. His advice was simple and prompt: “Try thinking about something else that’s nice Mummy. Try thinking about Christmas.”
A bit later still, when he was clearly in a more reflective mood. He announced that the newts were like Tyrannorsaurus Rex. It’s a good analogy. I have found myself thinking about Hobbes and the Social Contract. The only “enlightened self interest” in that pond is of the “newts gotta eat” variety. I think I may have to pick up my copy of “Leviathan” and do some dipping (if you’ll pardon such a weak pun).
Crikey did it rain over Half Term! The pond overflowed and the ground under the fruit trees was so waterlogged that they started keeling over. Mr Darnbrough and I were out there hauling them back into the vertical and trying to wedge them upright. There was no point banging new posts into the ground, they would have fallen over too.
The flooding subsided fairly quickly once the rain finally stopped but since then we have not seen a single tadpole. At first I had visions of them being stranded in the grass and “asphyxiating” as the water level receded but now I have come to the sad conclusion that they have probably all been eaten - either by the fish, the newts or the heron.
I have been feeling desperately sad about this but it seems that I am alone. Everyone else just laughs at me when I tell them, or says that it’s nature and I shouldn’t get upset about it. They have a point, but sometimes it’s hard not to intervene to try and protect the things that you care about. The trouble is, at times like this, you’re not sure what you are meant to be protecting.
The circle of life, in particular the carnivorous portion of it, has been very active in the pond over the last week. We have been receiving daily visits from a local heron, which seems intent on relieving us of the last remaining fish and may also be responsible for the recent reduction in sightings of frogs and toads.
It is quite exciting to look out of the window at 7 o’clock in the morning and see a heron standing little more than twenty feet away from your bedroom window. In other circumstances I would have been entranced, but this one was after “our” fish and frogs. In spite of a lot of arm waving and yelling from me, it didn’t seem in that much of a hurry to leave. Mr Darnbrough suggested that this was because it had a full stomach . . . he received a “look” in return for his poorly timed attempt at levity.
The heron has only been one of our difficulties. I am now wondering about the fate of all the little frog and toadlets that we have raised in the tank and then released back into the pond. Yesterday, Eldest Son and I released seven of them. We were crouching happily by the pond watching them make their way to freedom when we saw one of them being consumed by a newt: it had only been in the pond for five minutes . . . . Life in the state of nature for this little scrap was very definitely of the Hobbesian variety: “nasty, brutish, and short”.
Eldest Son was clearly a bit shocked at this display of pond “realpolitik”. He wanted to try and save the toadlet but by the time we saw what was happening it was already halfway down the marauding newt’s throat; we got a good view of its little arms waving about helplessly and then it disappeared for ever beneath a lily leaf.
Eldest Son was enraged: “Next time I see that newt I’m going to kill it!” at which point Mummy (who was feeling rather upset herself) was left to explain that her favourite amphibians were carnivores and would not have understood what all the fuss was about. (I was also forced to reflect that the heron would have felt the same way.)
Later in the day, I confessed to Eldest Son that I was still feeling rather sad about the fate of the toadlet. He appeared to have already ‘moved on’. His advice was simple and prompt: “Try thinking about something else that’s nice Mummy. Try thinking about Christmas.”
A bit later still, when he was clearly in a more reflective mood. He announced that the newts were like Tyrannorsaurus Rex. It’s a good analogy. I have found myself thinking about Hobbes and the Social Contract. The only “enlightened self interest” in that pond is of the “newts gotta eat” variety. I think I may have to pick up my copy of “Leviathan” and do some dipping (if you’ll pardon such a weak pun).
posted by Susan Darnbrough at
10:23 am
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