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Watershed

                I woke up this morning to the sound of rain falling on our tin roof. The precipitation had been predicted and was needed because it has been a week of more without any and things were beginning to get dry. The rain hits our roof and follows a labyrinthine path through assorted gutters and downspouts before it reaches the ground. The house is a compilation of two separately built structures, one old one and a new addition. They fit together in a very interesting but complicated way. It is convoluted because of the way it had to be configured in order to actually work and deliver water away from the foundation, which it sometimes does. What it causes when it rains is a cacophony of sounds as the water races down the roof into an assortment of metal gutters switching back and forth before it goes into the plastic drainage pipes underground and on toward the creek. Dripping rain from the top most roof falls to the second story, into the surrounding gutters, through numerous leaks, splattering and making noise and so on. The sound is more noticeable when you are lying in the dark stillness of your bed sleeping in silence in the night and early morning before the world wakes up, before the animals stir. We have lots of water to deal with here on a normal dry day but much more when it rains.

                This morning after coffee I walked up to the larger trout pond to make sure it was draining according to design. It was. The falling rain was dimpling the surface and making concentric rings within rings across the normally placid face of the pond. Reflecting the early morning light in a multitude of facets, it really is quite beautiful when you stand there and watch the falling rain fracture the level surface of the pond’s face reflecting the surrounding trees. It becomes an amazing abstract painting filled with lines, forms, textures and movements. Of course you have to stand there in the downpour to see the myriad attraction it offers. The orange, golden, silver, black and white spotted koi dart back and forth just beneath the surface watching for the possibility of a food morsel mixed in with the influx of detritus. A tiny succulent worm or beetle often gets wiped from the needles and leaves of the surrounding trees and shrubs resulting in an unexpected repast for the hungry fish. They are basically vegetarian but will accept a bit of protein if it is available. In the rain all things above the pond, which is an inclined forested plane going up to the top of the mountain till it reaches the national forest, contains many types of vegetable and animal matter that is flushed down the mountain by the precipitation and gravity.

                The watershed above the pond releases a great deal of debris, much of it edible. Microscopic organisms still dormant, hiding beneath last fall’s decomposing leaf litter along with any and everything else eventually winds up washing down the hill, passing under the small driveway through a metal culvert to end up in the koi pond. There it settles with much of it sinking to the bottom making the depth of the depression shallower with each passing year. The floating material continues to the overflow and passes along on the way to Big Creek, the Toccoa River and Lake Blue Ridge. Whatever comes down the mountain becomes a food choice for the ravenous koi when it is swept into their receiving pond. There are yellow bellied water snakes living in the pond competing with the koi for sustenance and I am certain occasionally feed on the smaller fish as well. You almost never see the snaky interlopers but I know they are there because if you build a water feature they will come, along with tadpoles, frogs, salamanders, crayfish, great blue herons, kingfishers and so much more! The pond has been here since 1976 and has changed in various ways after all this time. When first built the depth of the water came up to my clavicle but now it is only navel deep, quite a diminishment in depth. Someday, I am sure I will have to have a backhoe come in and return the pond to its original profundity but that involves so much botanical destruction and expense that I will delay it for as long as I can.

                When we first bought this place in 1974 our plumbing was, to say the least sort of primitive. When you turned on the cold water spigot in the kitchen or bathroom it was not unusual for a small dark spotted salamander to come slithering out of the faucet, looking exactly as though he was made of brown glistening water, which is probably not far off. The plumbing and electrical wiring in the old cabin was installed after we purchased the place and was never quite up to standards, not that we cared. It was a place of almost constant pleasure, awe and excitement. In the early years we worked ourselves to death with so much that had to be done on our short week end visits but we managed. In those days I dreamed of the time when I would be retired and have a weed less garden and yard; it seemed like an achievable goal back when I was still young and foolish.  That time has come and gone and after much reflection I have determined that weed less gardens are things to be dreamed of, seen on television and in gardening catalogs, certainly not a realistic goal for a man my age.

tbd