The Upper and Lower Ponds

I put in the new pump today and the water is moving again. To celebrate, the upper pond koi got to bathe right in the waterfall while the lower pond guys could only look on from a distance. Most of the koi stay put, but a few of them have learned to move back and forth between ponds, navigating the treacherous and narrow waterway where the two ponds meet.

You might ask, why would these fish, after getting a taste of the upper pond--the big pond, ever visit the lower pond again? Well, like many of your friends from your home town, these lower-pond koi are happy in a small place where the water runs slower and deeper. Some feel safer in the lower pond, I'll bet. My favorite is a calico red and white, probably the biggest fish of all, and the queen of lower pond. Everyone follows the calico as she glides slowly along, though there's not far to go. The upper pond guys have the waterfall and the big pool above, another big pond and they have a covered passageway to travel between the two.

But the frogs favor the lower pond, and at night the place jumps like a night club in a dry county in Arkansas on payday (if you will forgive me for saying so). These jumpy guys have no morals at all--squawking all night with an amazing racket, fornicating (I'm just guessing), spewing their eggs all over the lily pads and sleeping all day.

The koi sniff around on the tops of the pads, so these eggs will be gone soon (another advantage of the lower pond), and I imagine the frogs could care less. They'll just spew out some more.

Bugs and other tasty stuff, everything really, flows from the upper pond to the lower pond, like a 24-hour buffet. The lower pond also puts on a show of blossoms from the lily pads.

Did I mention, though, that the upper pond has lotus blossoms and a bridge to hide under? And a cool waterfall?

Fixing a Leak (in my Brain)

The pump shaft seals I ordered did not come on Friday, so the pump will be down at least until Monday, a fact that ate away at me Friday afternoon, causing me to look out the window for the UPS truck no fewer than 20 times, brooding like some heart-sick teenager waiting for a date to arrive, practicing my lines for the driver (like what happened, did you like forget I even existed?).

But the truck did not come and as night came on, and without Cheryl here to forestall it, my broodiness gave way to something darker. At the same time a balancing thought was struggling to reach my consciousness, and not for the first time this week. In fact, it has occurred to me several times that it would be nice, now that the water level is down, to repair a leak in one of the pond walls. Only on Friday night I'm so busy being mad about the pump seals that nothing else matters. Probably by 10 pm, the revelation burst through to me. The pump seals were late for a reason. It was a sign: it was time to fix the leak, and I had all weekend to do it. A miracle.

So this morning I filled a plastic bag with dirt and made a little dam. Then I took the shop vac and dried out the area by the leak. Perfect. At first I tried to seal the cracks with silicon caulk, but it was too wet and besides what I really wanted to do (and in an obsessive sort of way) was mix up some concrete and put a skim coat on the entire section of wall. Nothing is more fun that slapping down some concrete. Roof tar or something similar would probably have been better (for you critical people out there who want to judge me) but I wanted to mix up some concrete, OK?

Sometimes the universe sends you a message, like mix up some concrete and fix the leak once and for all, you ignorant fool, when you have the chance.

Here's some star jasmine (Jasminum nitidum) growing in my side yard. It seems especially happy this spring. I also found a new patch of it growing along the sidewalk in front, in a place where I cleared back some weeds last winter.

Clear away the negative and something nice will (eventually) take its place.

A Pump with no Seals

Cheryl is away this week at a conference (controlling whatever and whoever crosses her path) while Willow and I are feeling alone and sad.

An old friend of mine, Fast Eddie, sent me an email out of the blue yesterday, and we reminisced back and forth for a while. He was my first roommate in college--we rented an old house in the country. Nothing about that time seems real anymore, and it occurs to me that I could spin it in any possible way and not really lie. I could write two completely different autobiographies from that time, one happy and one sad (but both completely unnecessary). I'm guessing this is normal, and I will not cry girly tears over it.

Then yesterday my new water pump came in the mail, only it didn't have the pump shaft seals that it needed (oh, spank me for not knowing that I needed to order pump shaft seals), so the water just rushed out onto the motor when I finally got everything put back together. I had to call and order the seals (oh, you wanted the seals?), and now it will be 2 or 3 days of no circulation. The fish hate me for this, but I am growing impatient with their little attitudes. Fish is also food.

Last night I made some nice pasta with shrimp and Willow and I toured the neighborhood. And Cheryl will be back Sunday. So no more whining and no need to dwell on my previous life--I am happy with this one.

A Proud Pump Retires

For about the past 10 years the water in our fish pond has been circulating for 24 hours a day (not counting a few power outages), all thanks to a little electric motor and a pump. But yesterday that impressive record of service came to an end.

I called my brother, who is an expert in pumps and, coincidentally, an undercover agent for the CIA (so I'll call him Hector in this entry). Hector attempted to explain the concepts of a water pump--how, by balancing the pressure on both sides of the pump, the movement of such great quantities of water (which is awfully heavy, by the way) can be done with such little effort (in this case, a 0.10 horsepower motor).

The motor is on the left in this picture, and the pump (with a darker color) is on the right and with a pipe coming out of its top side. Water goes into the hole on the right and is pushed up the pipe. The motor is still OK--it hums away and turns the pump--but the pump (also known as the wet end) just doesn't propel water anymore.

More than once I've wondered: what else can run for 10 years non-stop, day and night, and outside in the Florida weather? This pump is a relic, really, a throwback to a time when people worked their entire lives for single company, with a sense of balance and permanence, with an expectation of work and an ethic to provide it, at a time when job security was taken for granted in return for good job performance? Now we expect things to break after two of three years, and our careers often have the same event horizon. In any case, the pump provides a good example--we do best when the forces around us are in balance.

I've ordered a new pump from the same company (http://www.pondshop.com/). And I'll run the Emerson motor until it gives out. Hector reminded me that Emerson is the company that makes ceiling fans. Years ago, he and I lived in an old house with a working Emerson fan that had been in the house since about 1910, and I'll bet that fan is still running.

When the new pump arrives I'll attach it to the motor and hopefully all will be well. Then I'll take the old pump and set it on a rock in the shade where it can see the pond and have a nice retirement. Job well done, my friend.

Monsters of the Deep

If that the heavens do not their visible spirits
Send quickly down to tame these vile offences,
It will come,
Humanity must perforce prey on itself,
Like monsters of the deep.

An interesting drama is playing out in the press. Like the abortion issue, this one is so packed with emotion that the apologists for both sides remain far apart. One side argues that extreme measures are necessary in other to provide for security. The other side argues that extreme measures are immoral and (if that's not enough) ineffective.

One side, on the defensive at being considered immoral, counters that the other side is naive. Extreme measures are necessary, they say, and, by the way, not extreme. They demonstrate this by making jokes about the nature of waterboarding and other tactics. You can read the formerly-secret memos online and decide for yourself.

The other side wants to prosecute Bush and others as criminals, guilty of war crimes. Obama has indicated now that he does not intend to pursue legal action, though he has formally discontinued the torture policy. (I should answer the phone when he calls, but yesterday I cleaned the fish pond filter and made a huge mess.)

The argument for prosecution is compelling but academic considering the political reality: many people don't mind the idea of torture as long as people are being tortured, while of course no one supports the torture of a dog or cat. I understand the counter argument--that some people deserve it while animals never do--but I don't agree with it. Politically, it would be impossible to send Bush or Cheney to jail over this. (Sigh)

Ask me what I would do to protect my wife or even my dog, and I am afraid to think of it. We are hard-wired to defend ourselves and our loved ones. But there seems to be a consensus, from the people who know about these things, that once a person is captured the use of torture accomplishes nothing except to satify the hard-wired part of our brains, the same part that, in the not too distant past, compelled people to watch prisoners torn apart by horses or have their guts pulled out with a steel hook. Once a person is captured, we protect them from the mob (see Gunsmoke, every other episode) no matter what they have done.

On a lighter side, I may have to clean out my fish pond more thoroughly. The flow of water is getting interrupted somehow. At least this is something I can fix and make better.

Getting Dirty

In the poison'd entrails throw.
Toad, that under cold stone,
Days and nights has thirty-one;
Swelter'd venom sleeping got,
Boil thou first i' the charmed pot!
Double, double toil and trouble;
Fire burn, and caldron bubble.

Our fish ponds circulate water though a biological filter, which is actually an old well filled with lava rocks. The water bubbles up through the lava and falls, nice and clean, over the edge. This works within the well due to a virtual orgy of bacteria, breaking down the swirling toxins and turning them into a brown, disgusting and (I'm hoping) harmless sludge, which mercifully doesn't smell at all like it looks.

Over time the sludge builds up in the well and needs to be removed. Of course, I could hire someone to do this, but then would I ever get the chance to get my hands covered in the stuff or have it splash over the edge into my sandals or have a branch splash it into my face or get it all over my shirt and and pants until I'm tempted to puke? No, this is just the job for me.

Meanwhile today some Republicans and associated nut jobs are having a national "tea party" to demonstrate their irrelevance and their aversion to paying taxes--playing out some farce while millions of people face real hardships. At least I spent the day in some honest manure.

Back to the pond: the water is pumped from the lower pond and into the bottom of the well (at the back of this picture), where it bubbles to the top through the cleaning lava rocks. Then it travels down a channel to the back of the big pond (you can't really see it to the left in this picture), then to a waterfall, and then to the lower and smaller pond. Along the way, the water picks up fish pee, frog pee, mosquito pee, (certainly not my pee, in case you are wondering), lizard pee, and who knows whose pee.

With the help of the biological filter, this pee, poop, sweat, tears, dirt and funky stuff is turned into a safe form of sludgy nitrogen that is digested by the pond plants, which are pretty happy I can tell you. So today I took the sludge and poured it on my peppers and the bamboo and my other favored plants in the yard, only to have it splash on me again and again.

Time for another shower...