Three years ago, my sons dug me a small pond. Because of my illness and mobility problems, they wanted me to have my own little piece of nature just outside the window. I added 4 goldfish. In three years, they multiplied to 60.
People warned me: “The heron will eat them.”
My reply, every time: “Great! I’ll get epic heron photos from my garden!”
And so it happened. After three years, she finally found the pond. She wasn’t interested in the fact that it was my pond. She was interested in the fish. She didn’t leave a tip. She didn’t post a positive review on Google Maps. She simply did exactly what herons do.
From a photographer’s perspective? I have shots where she’s so close she doesn’t even fit in the frame of my 180-600mm lens at its widest. That’s how close she was. A lesson in humility.
Do I feel sorry for the fish? A little. For three years they had paradise. Nothing disturbed them, and I was unknowingly feeding them extra by scattering bird food nearby. I’d grown attached to them. On the bad days – the days when illness kept me in the garden chair – I’d watch them swim. They calmed me. That was my therapy.
But that’s the circle of nature. There’s no room for sentiment here. Once a heron discovers a place, a small pond like mine can no longer be a safe haven for fish.
Goodbye, little goldfish. You were a beautiful chapter in my garden story. 🖤🐟
