Elle's Pond

When I left the farmhouse the pounding rain had ceased but the sky was still filled with gray, looming clouds. Wet grass stuck to my dirty black boots as I crossed the barren hayfield towards the duck pond, hoping that I would not find it flooded. The apple orchard on the distant horizon was barren and lifeless, its fruit made into ciders and pies last month. Only a few trees held onto browned leaves that refused to fall, even with the wind beating them with all its prodigious strength.

I heard the chirping of a bird overhead but didn’t bother to look for the creature in the sky; I wanted to make this journey a quick one. Walking across the property reminded me that the home where I’d grown up had been sold and this would be my last winter here. The bottoms of my pants were damp and I was shivering through my thick wool coat as the nipping wind made its way up my sleeves and lingered on my neck. The breeze whipped my hair across my face and I brushed it out of my eyes; the red toque my grandmother knitted for me was proving useless.

I reached the back of my family’s farmland where the pond was located and found that the water level had risen by a few inches. Luckily there hadn’t been enough rain to cause flooding. I picked up a stone from the ground and threw it towards the water. It skipped three times and then fell beneath the surface.

I sat underneath one of the small trees that lined the edge of the pond and began to dip the toe of my boot beneath the murky water surface. I was surprised to see Canadian geese floating along the pond; I had thought they had already flown south for the winter. Pulling my gloved hand out of my pocket, I brought out two slices of bread and memories of my childhood. I broke off small pieces and tossed them as far out as I could. The birds glided closer to gobble up the snack.

The wind blew more intensely and I wrapped my brown scarf tighter around my neck in a failing attempt to block out the cold. Out of the corner of my eye, I glimpsed a dandelion puff resting among the green and brown grasses. The seeds, with their white feathery petals, formed at the end of the slender green stem a perfect orb that seemed as though it was struggling to remain whole as it was tossed about by the wind.

I stood and walked over to where the weed had sprouted, looking down at it for a moment before bending over and snapping the stem in half. Then, as I had done many times in the years of my childhood, I raised the seed head to my lips. Closing my eyes tightly, I made a wish, repeating it over and over in my head as I exhaled as hard as I could. The many seeds separated, the wind picking them up and carrying them away in a tiny, elegant dance.

As I watched the seeds fly away, I realised that snowflakes had joined the dance. I saw them falling towards the ground, only to be caught up by the wind in a twirling fury. The geese took to the air, slowly forming the shape of a V as they headed southward. I shoved my hands in my pockets and walked back towards the house. I knew my wish would not come true.

The front door greeted me with a noisy creek, a sound that had betrayed me on past nights when I tried to sneak out late at night. Now it reminded me of the salutation of a dog relieved that I’d returned home and I became conscious of just how much I would miss it. I took off my boots and left them lying on the hallway floor; through the nearest doorway I could my own dog was snoring on the living room couch, his eye slightly open as though watching for my mother to yell at him to get off the furniture.

My father appeared in the other doorway. Every time I saw him I couldn’t help but notice how much older he was starting to look. Dark circles permanently slept under his wrinkled eyes and his once black beard was coated in silver. “How’s the pond?” He asked me, not bothering with a greeting.

“A few inches deeper but not flooding,” I told him as I unbuttoned my coat. “You won’t have to transplant the trees; the soil’s still firm enough to hold them.”

“We’d better not get any more rain or it won’t stay that way. Did you see any animals?”

“A few Canadian geese were floating on the pond.”

My father’s sunken shoulders lifted, so that he looked the way he had during my childhood, and he returned to the kitchen. I followed him slowly. He re-emerged with his hunting rifle in his hands and hurried towards the front door, saying, “I thought they’d all left by now.”

I took a hold of his arm while he passed me. “They already flew off,” I informed him.

He tried to shake me off. “I might still be able to find them. There’s nothin’ like fresh goose for dinner.”

My eyes pleaded with him but I kept my voice firm. “They’re long gone, Dad.”

My father sighed. I took a hold of his arm again and led him back to the kitchen. “You’re probably right, Elle. I’m just going to miss hunting them.”

“I know.”