I think most of the times I went to the pond was for Daddy to either check the windmill to see if the water was flowing into the stock tank or the level of the pond. The stock tank by itself was mystical. It was the water, clear, cool, and inviting. Deep green algae would grow at the bottom of the tank. The water, from the bowels of the earth, ( Did the waters still remember being part of an ancient sea?) was frigid on a 100 degree Kansas summer day. It invited me to stick my hands in as far as I could and hold them till they were numb. My fingers would scrabble through the rusty metal sides , plucking snails to observe them outside of the water. I would then release them and watch them drop to the bottom of the tank. I was amazed at how many could live in the stock tank.
The thing about growing up on a farm in Kansas was the sight of standing water was an invitation to get wet! If there was a mud puddle it was meant for our feet to squish through the silty mud. If I saw water running through a ditch, well, that was too wade in up to our ankles and knees. A stock tank was to bathe our arms and see how long it would take for the fingers to go numb. A pond? That was a swimming pool.
Whereas the stock tank was crystal clear water, the pond was a muddy brown. The edges of the pond were indented with cattle hooves that filled with water. Interspersed with the hoof prints was the inevitable cow pies. I would carefully negotiate my way to the water's edge. I would walk in up to my ankles and wait for the water to settle. My toes would dig into the muddy bottom, and the feel of the cool delicious mud squirting through my toes soothed any prickly stickers I might have encountered on my way down the path.
As the water started to settle I would be able to see the tiny minnow fish dash and dart around my feet. They were always too quick for me to catch. This water did not numb the toes. The surface was bathwater warm, and the deeper I would walk in the cooler it would get. I would usually go waist deep then sink to my neck. Our clothes would be dry within minutes, and before mom would find out we got them dirty in the pond!
My favorite memory of the pond was the summer our cousins came out from S. California. Marty and Bill were older than me, and I looked up to them in awe. They had found an old metal canoe shaped boat out behind some shed. I don't really remember if it was a real boat or not. They spent days getting it waterproofed so they could take it out on the pond.
The day came when they thought it was ready, and it was loaded in the back of the blue Ford pickup along with all the rest of us. At the pond they took that boat out waist deep and started to paddle. It promptly sank. I can still see them today, frantically bailing out the boat as it sank. It was an adventure. I think it is probably still there today. An artifact for someone to find someday!
When the sun became too hot outside by the pond the grove of cottonwood trees would rustle in the wind and breathe an invitation. It was also a favorite place of the cattle so once again I would be dodging cow poop. I guess I spent a lot of time dodging things with my bare feet. I would eventually find a clear spot to sit and lean up against the back of the tree trunk. I'd close my eyes and listen to the meadow larks in the field. The cicadas would eventually forget I was there and start their mating calls again. In the distance I would hear the windmill creak and groan as water gushed out of the pipe. I could smell the grass baking and the cow manure drying and composting. It was a clean crisp smell of heat, things growing, and things dying.
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