…you played in the mud? I mean truly got in the mud and felt it squish between your toes? Mucking through puddles in boots going about your adult business doesn’t count.

When we moved into this house - the first time, ten or so years ago - we decided it would be grand to have a pond. The boys and I spent countless days excavating, sometimes with shovels, sometimes with Tonkas. It’s about 8′x10′, and three feet deep at it’s deepest point. We realized that it could become a mosquito breeding ground so we tossed in a half dozen goldfish, not knowing if they’d survive or not. Certainly not expecting them to thrive. But, year after year the fish multiplied and the pond became a science experiment and a great place to muck around.

Our tenants managed to keep the fish alive and the pond relatively full, but upon our recent return we decided that it’s not a very good use of our limited water supply. We allowed the water to start evaporating and Evan went in with a net, in search of the surviving goldfish. He caught one and couldn’t find any more.

Today, I passed the pond and noticed movement. Mind you, there is maybe a half gallon of water left, and it’s floating atop six inches of slippery, dark brown mud. In the middle. My kids were not here, so I tossed off my slippers, put on my cape, and stepped into the muck (only two of those are true) to save the flailing fish. I’m pretty sure the stuff that was oozing between my toes was made up primarily of fish poop.

Turns out, I rescued half a dozen full size fish that were struggling to survive in the muddy water, along with a bunch of babies. What we’ll do with them, I don’t know.