On Pittman's Pond

It was one of those days husbands sometimes experience. You are home, alone, the wife is off on a business trip, and you are left to do whatever you want. Well, not “whatever”, of course. Wise husbands know this.

Nancy and I created a small flower garden at the end of April one year. It was a patch of grass that died because of the above-the-ground pool the former owner installed. We dug up the grass, replaced it with fresh soil, and spent many bucks populating it with beautiful flowers. I would tell you the names of them, but I just can’t remember. I did the “heavy lifting” back in those days. Nancy did the important stuff, like picking out specific plants at the nursery. She knew their names, and how much sun, water, and food they needed. I knew where to plant them because she pointed and said, “put that one here”. She tried to teach me the names, but for reasons to this day I cannot figure out, my brain is averse to keeping them in storage.

Did I mention we planted this garden in April? We live in Colorado. The rule of thumb around here is to never plant anything before Mother’s Day. But it was so warm the week before! There’s an epidemic that hits just before Mother’s Day. It originates in the garden nurseries and spreads throughout the community. First, you see one neighbor with new plants, then another, and before long the fever gets so intense you must buy potted plants and get them in the ground! It doesn’t matter how many warnings the weather people broadcast, the fever takes over and everyone is out buying plants before Mother’s Day, planting them, and then saying a little prayer for no more snow! The prayer works, sometimes. But the averages are not good.

Six to twelve inches of snow fell that Spring. Hundreds of dollars of plants froze to death and the little flower garden looked like a scene from Dr. Zhivago. After the thaw, we considered how to recover. Buy more plants, after Mother’s Day, no wait, a week after Mother’s Day, and replant them. Then an idea blossomed in my brain, and I thought a water feature would be nice to have. I began the search for one, scanning Home and Garden websites, and decided on something simple. A small stream setting, with a little elevation, flowing lazily into a small pool. There were kits for that! How hard could it be?

The plans looked substantial on the website. I got excited! This is what we need. I’ll go down and buy it today! I find it at my local home improvement store. A plastic pool and four or five plastic sections made up the “stream” with a small pump to recycle the water to the top of a small incline. It didn’t look like much, but the price was right, and you could do so much to make it look like a real mountain stream with a few plants.

The whole setup was dwarfed by the size of the area. Plants didn’t help and the pump clogged up constantly. What a rip-off! However, I was not discouraged. What about a pond? Not a big one, just five feet long and three feet wide. Maybe I could put fish in it! That would be cool. Nancy thought it might be a good idea and wondered if I had researched what it took to maintain a pond like that. I admitted I hadn’t done any research beyond the cheap plastic fake stream, but thought it was a small enough project, so not much research was required. Just dig a hole! She said “ok” in the way only wives can say “ok”. That “oh-kay” slowly delivered with the sense of doom hanging off the end.

As I have gotten older and wiser, I realized that “oh-kays” delivered in this manner are packed with meaning: “Oh-kay, remember the last time you tried that? How did that work out for you?”; “Oh-kay, if you think you don’t need the instructions, go for it!”; “Oh-kay, but how much is it going to cost to do it right the second time?”. Guys, these are warning signals. You get the “oh-kay” without what follows. It’s like a train signal with no gate. You are supposed to know that the train is coming and it’s close, so don’t try to cross the tracks! You’ll get run over! Yeah, but it’s only a few feet to the other side.

“Oh-kay” was followed by “I will see you next week. Have fun!” Then she got in her car and drove to the airport headed for the east coast. I wouldn’t see her again for a week. “Oh-kay” was the go word, so I could do whatever I wanted, as it related to my new pond project. Oh, the freedom!

I got up Saturday morning and was stoked! I had a shovel and an idea, and I could not wait to get started. I knew how long and wide I wanted to make the pond, but what about the depth? Three feet sounded right. Three feet by five feet by three feet deep. Wait, it’s going to look like a Mini-Me grave! No, plants will enhance it. So, I began digging.

I thought about calling for locates, but it was a fleeting thought. I started digging and was surprised at how easily the soil gave way to the shovel. I had a two-foot by five-foot by two-foot hole in the ground in no time. I used a wheel barrel to relocate the dirt to the back of the yard, next to this big green box. It was ugly, so I thought I would try to hide it with the dirt from the hole. Pretty clever, right?

I took a break, had some lunch, and got back at it. As I dug out the next foot of width, I hit something hard, like metal, like a metal conduit or something. That didn’t make sense! Why would a metal conduit be running a foot from the surface in this part of the yard? The earlier fleeting thought about locates came to mind and I asked myself, “Could this be dangerous? Could I electrocute myself here?”. Some sobering thoughts. I crawled out of the hole and took a break. Let’s think this thing through.

If it was an electric utility line, carrying power from one place to the other, I certainly did not want to cut through it. Ditch the shovel and get a small hammer, and a chisel, and think like an archeologist. Work slowly, deliberately around the area, do not puncture anything, and slowly expose the perimeter of the thing buried. Once I know how long and wide it is, I will know what I am dealing with.

I slowly and carefully removed the dirt surrounding my find, brushing away the dirt to reveal its surface. It was made of metal. I needed to know how big this thing was. I move slowly and carefully left to right, then down deeper into the soil until I exposed a handle! There was a handle attached to what appeared to be a metal box. Working carefully, I continued to expose the front face of the object. It was a Samsonite briefcase! A briefcase was buried a foot down from the surface. What had I found?

Who hasn’t dreamed of buried treasure before? I was no longer an archeologist. I was a treasure hunter! The briefcase was not the narrow Samsonite kind used for caring a folder or two from home to office. It was the large, thicker type. Four inches high, a foot and a half long, and a foot wide. How many $10,000, one hundred dollars stacks would fit in a briefcase this size? I turned to my extensive knowledge of gangster movies and figured maybe $40,000, $50,000. My heart raced with the thought of that much money sitting there in front of me. I had to dig it out and open it!

It didn’t take long. After satisfying myself that I would not die from my efforts, I re-engaged with the shovel. In a couple of minutes, it was sitting on the surface. The weight of it convinced me that my guesses of its contents might be right. My heart started racing as I grabbed the hose, cleaned it off, and tried to open it. It was locked. Now, I know I’m right! There’s money in there!

I took it over to the side yard adjacent to my neighbor’s yard and grabbed the hammer and chisel. It did not take much. The lock broke away and, with an excitement I have only felt a couple of times in my life, I popped up the lid.

The stench nearly knocked me over. Before long stray dogs and coyotes would be heading my way. I quickly lowered the lid. A voice drifted over the eight-foot fence. “Bob, what are you doing over there?” It was my neighbor. We didn’t know them very well yet, so I was very polite. “Oh, I’m doing a little backyard project and found this briefcase buried in the backyard. It has a dead cat in it.” She replied, “that would be one of the previous owner’s Siamese cats. She had four or five of them. I suspect that one died, and she buried it there. It really does smell. What are you going to do with it?” That was the same question I asked myself! I quadruple bagged it and set it out in the trash the following week. Of course, I did not give her those details.

The stench of a decaying, dead cat in a briefcase, brought me back to earth. I was no longer an archaeologist or a treasure hunter. I was a novice pond builder with very little knowledge about the topic. I was determined, though, so I went back to digging Mini-Me’s grave. Plants will make all the difference!

Suffice it to say that plants did not solve the “pond” problem. I had a deep, dark, dank hole filled with water and a couple of goldfish I never saw. Nancy saw the results of my work and commented, “Well, Oh-kay. May I make a suggestion? I like your idea of a pond. I can see it there in the space between the trees. Get a book about building ponds, think it through, draw out your design, and let’s discuss it.” Such a wise woman. I did exactly what she said.

Nancy and I have been together for thirty-three years. She has taught me patience and the ability to create such beauty in our little yard projects. She is my partner and mentor. If God has blessed you with such a relationship, thank Him for bringing the two of you together. I thank Him every day for Nancy.

“A woman of excellence, who will find? For her worth is far more than precious jewels.” Proverbs 31:10 (LEB)

We sold the pond house a few years ago. The “neighborhood watch” keeps me informed about the pond we created. The current owners love it and have maintained it well. There was one small problem with the dirt around that big green box. Apparently, it is an electrical transformer for the pond house and three other houses in the neighborhood. They are NOT to be covered in dirt. It causes them to overheat. The pond house transformer blew up a couple of years ago. No major damage. The blast was contained within the dirt mound. It did, however, leave the neighbors with no power for a few days while the electric company replaced it. The number for locates in our area is 811.