Pond Life

The hated pond, too shallow, too beachy

  
I haven't posted much recently. I've had a lot on my mind: a few tonnes of earth and several hundred gallons of water to be precise. Plus three bags full of stones sir. Yup, it's the new pond. Disappointed isn't the word to use; gutted is nearer the mark. I'm not sure quite why it all went so badly wrong, but I knew as soon as the hole was dug that it wasn't what I wanted. Did I say anything? Not really. And so the liner was laid, the beach was created across about one third of the surface, and the shelves - far too shallow - were stocked with plants. I tried to like it, I really did. And then I knew that I never would, and I'd have to take action. Belatedly, I know. But was it too late? I told Sarah from Native Gardens that I wasn't happy with it, that there wasn't enough water and that the shelves were not deep enough. I told here it was my own fault for not being more specific before it was created, for not showing her pictures of what I wanted. She was very sympathetic, but not prepared to risk tearing the expensive liner by taking it up. And so I tried my old mate Julian Barclay who had wanted the contract in the first place. Yes, he'd send two men around, at the daily rate of £500 including VAT, but I'd have to take responsibility for any unpreventable damage. It probably wouldn't take them a day, but he couldn't let them out for just a few hours, could he? What would he do with them for the rest of the day? I'd like to have told him, but instead I took stock, thought hard, and knew I could do it myself. Or die in the trying.

Starting again, beach removed, pump in position

Removing the grassy edging

Lining peeled carefully back

Starting to lower the shelves by 6 inches

 

Liner back in place again

Starting to refill the newly spacious pond

Pond full again

Earth edging nearly back in place

Exactly a month to the day after the hole was dug I completed the job. Was I triumphaant? You bet your life I was. God, but I enjoyed it too, hard, tricky work though it was. I was careful, I was systematic, I was bloody determined. I never felt overwhelmed though it was a massive job, just confident and happy and relieved. David loaned me his powerful pump, and he and Judy delivered it to the Indian restaurant in Fram where they treated me to a meal. Wouldn't take a penny. Lovely, lovely people. That same evening I had the water emptied in a jiffy, pouring away effortlessly down the hill through the barley field. Then I removed the wretched stones that made up the stupid beach, bagging them up and cursing all the while. Next I shifted the earth that secured the liner in place around the edges, carefully removing it with a plastic spade and depositing it all around me. Lastly I peeled back the liner and soft under-fleece, gently as you like for this was the scariest bit, and I could see what needed to be done, and I knew I could do it. It took me three days, getting filthy and using every muscle I still have left, then sinking into a hot bath at the end of each day to soak away the aches and pains. I don't think I've ever got more satisfaction from a garden job.

It's not completely finished, because I'm going to put a few interesting stones around the edge to break up the wild flower seed I shall plant. But it's as near as damn it done. Now, instead of looking at it with a heavy heart and trying to work out how to make it OK, I'm feasting on it and pondering ways to make it beautiful as it matures. At the moment it's just a round hole full of water, but to me it's a rare sight to behold.