"Mum, when we move house, can we take the pond with us?" my son asked a few weeks ago.
I can see why he wants to. We've spent a lot of time crouching at the edge of that pond over the last few months, gazing into the murky water and charting the progress of the jelly frogspawn lumps as they become tadpoles, and then fattening them up with dried cat food (a fiercely fought-over job it's been, getting to chuck in the cat food and watch the sleek black taddies swarming all over it). Now the water is teeming with tiny baby froglets, and we have all oohed and aahed at their cuteness as they try to scramble up the side of the pond and into the big wide world. Youngest daughter has put herself in charge of froglet welfare and has had some stern words with the cat whenever she comes padding over for a look at the new babies. And while the pond itself is titchy - barely deserving of the word 'pond' being ooh, all of two feet in diameter - I sense that digging it up and transporting it, plants, froglets, water snails and all is not a goer.
(My most embarrassing moment during the trying-to-sell-our-house period came when a family from Devon arrived to look round the house. I was chatting to the parents in the kitchen and noticed their son (aged 8 or so) looked a bit bored and was scuffing his foot up and down the floor. "Do you want to go outside to see the pond?" I asked. "There's loads of frogspawn in it."
He shrugged, not seeming interested. "We had loads of it in one of our ponds," he said dismissively.
"Yes, till the heron got it all!" his mum put in.
I was really glad then that he hadn't wanted to go out and look. If they had more than one pond AND a heron to boast of, then all of a sudden I didn't want them to see our titchy twenty-foot garden and puddle of a pond. Still, it's always been good enough for us...)
Anyway, so no, we won't we be taking the pond with us. We will definitely be digging one in to our new garden, when we get there, though. I'm looking forward to it already...
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