Goose
Hollow Pond Lives Up To Its Name
By Jeffrey M. Bowen
I never paid much
attention to ponds until one greeted us more than 30 years ago when we
purchased a 15-acre rural plot that we eventually named Goose Hollow. The pond
is about four acres, and it lies at the lowest point of our land at the foot of
a steep 200-foot hill above our house.
Water drains down into the pond, and seeps into it through swampy
springs at the north end. At the south
end is a grassy dike with a sluice through which water drains when spring rains
cause an overflow.
My simple physical description
of our pond is inadequate. Its presence reminds
us of an observation made about wildlife in the 1993 film Jurassic Park: “Life
finds a way”. Originally dredged by the
Army Corps of Engineers in the 1950s, the pond was officially designated a flyway
for migrating Canada geese. Although
that is no longer the case, our pond is a nesting spot for several pairs of
geese each spring. They nest immediately
after the ice breaks up. Within a day of
hatching, apparently the downy yellow offspring can walk, swim, and feed
themselves.
After a few weeks, their parents and watchful uncles
take the goslings on day trips. They march in line out of the pond, across a
cornfield, and into another nearby pond for the day. By fall, multiple squadrons woosh in at dusk
and stay the night before noisily taking flight early in the morning. We have learned their habits,
and we laugh watching them try to fly in a wedge. At first they
fail miserably, but by early autumn they do considerably
better. We marvel at their monogamy and dedication to caring for their
young. Canada geese are considered messy pests by
some, but we regard them as the stars of our ecosystem.
Adding lively variety to
our mere (small pond) are ducks, water snakes, frogs, turtles, solidary herons,
and even muskrats. Apparently fish cannot survive winters in our shallow
pond. White-nose syndrome has killed off
most of our bats. However, peepers
annually signal the warming days of spring with a resounding chorus of
high-pitched chirping.
Ancient snapping turtles and deep mud have
always kept us from wading into the water. Instead
our Labrador retriever Goose relished swims and always emerged with a smelly
residue which was surely his favorite perfume.
Our ecosystem features
wildflowers that thrive along the margins of the pond. Descriptively named, they
include water picklers, eastern blue-eyed grass plants, pickerelweed, irises,
arrowheads, queen Anne's lace, and cattails. Daffodils wave in early spring breezes, and
banks of goldenrod seem like a summer finale.
Pond weeds and bullrushes are abundant.
Our naive ignorance of aquatic vegetation has
taught us a lesson or two. As summer heightens in July, the pond loses depth
and allows what we now know as invasive milfoil weeds to grow from the muddy
bottom to clog the surface. With growing irritation, I decided to combat the
“infestation” with an expensive infusion of triploid grass carp.
According to the fish and game department,
they consume large quantities of milfoil but do not
multiply because they arrive having been neutered. Unfortunately, the fish died
out and never made headway in the weeds.
We think the heron punched holes in many of them.
The bullrushes presented
another dilemma. From the upper end of
the pond, clumps would break loose and embed themselves in the soggy margin of
our dike at the lower end. Their presence
obscured our pristine view. Once again annoyed, I convinced my wife to row me
up to these tall reeds, whereat I would grab hold and try to pull them
out. Soon I realized each stalk rests on
a heavy muddy cannonball of roots. Finally we hired a backhoe to root them out.
An old iron bench at the
foot of our pond sets the scene for changing foliage, flowers, and water
reflections. We savor peaceful walks along
our dike. Goose
Hollow pond is an awe-inspiring ecosystem where everything we see is
connected to everything else. As the
pond’s grateful protectors, we are just part of the plan.
