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THERE’S NO SUCH THING as a free tadpole.
A friend has swarms of them, millions probably, in the little pond beside the pool at her Virginia country house. “Take some,” she said. So we did, or rather, The Prince did, some months back, scooping a dozen or so into an empty bottle for the drive back to the city and a new home in our pond, where a headless woman pointlessly pours water in an endless stream over the rocky edge.
We’ve had frogs before. The night noise is evocative of something. Raccoon got ’em. Eviscerating our darlings and leaving the stinking remains on the white porch sofa cushions—well, shouldn’t he be comfortable while dining? No doubt he snickered as he and his blood-soaked whiskers skittered away to wherever he lurks in the daytime.
He got plenty of fish too. First the costly koi and then the gold-and-black-splotched “feeder fish” that your pet snakes are so fond of. We bought them in batches, 10 for a dollar. Feeder fish, ha.
The trick, we’re informed, is to set a pot on its side on the pond floor so the fish and the frogs have somewhere to hide from marauders. It also helps to put the fountain on a timer, setting it to turn off when we’re asleep. Critters of the night are attracted by the sound of running water, it’s said. That’s an actual useful sounding tip, so take note.
Filled with hopeful trepidation we packed our toothbrushes and our tiny new pets and returned to the city, where I considered how such visits always cost, even when they’re free. There are all of these ideas one has on the porch at dawn, watching the deer graze down by the stream at the edge of the meadow.
One rocks away, inhaling inspiration. I want a deep purple living room, or maybe turquoise, I think. Have you seen “Miss Fisher’s Murder Mysteries” on WETA UK? There is nothing subtle about her rooms or her person. I want to swan about in her black silk kimono with a dragon embroidered in gold and red on the back. And drive a 1924 Hispano-Suiza. I do not need a golden gun.
I want lamps for the dining table, with pink bulbs and fringed shades. In fact, I want pink bulbs everywhere—where does one find them?
A butler would be nice.
Of course I want a pool in the garden, as I’ve mentioned too many times before. I read somewhere once, and I’ve probably said this as well, that if you ask the universe straight out for what you want it will sooner or later arrive. We’re getting a tad close to later.
The mind bumps along like that. As long as I don’t move, this costs nothing but ink. But the tadpole harvest forced a stop at a garden center for pond plants—something for our budding croakers to feed on. So we buy bulbous green stuff to float and frilly green stuff to sink and stalky things to rise above the water and maybe flower (we should be so lucky).
Free tadpoles, $50 in plants.
What’s left of this exercise? Not even a leg to nibble. And so it goes.
—Stephanie Cavanaugh
LittleBird Stephanie Gardens writes about city gardens and what passes for them. To read earlier columns, type Green Acre in the Search box at the top of the page.
