Delving once more into Michael Pollan’s enlightening discourse on the construction of ponds, I was struck by an idea steeped in the wisdom of antiquated Greek philosophy. This concept had captivated 17th-century scholars who were set on validating its truth. Spontaneous generation, as the theory was titled, proposed that life could spontaneously manifest from inanimate matter, as if sprouting from the earth itself. Crave a scorpion? Sandwich some basil leaves between a pair of bricks and let the sunlight cook them, and presto! You’ll have a platoon of lethal spiders at your command.
Reality, as it turns out, is far more intriguing: scorpions enter our world as a result of their passionate parents partaking in a romantic “promenade à deux” courtship ritual, during which the male, engulfed with emotion, fertilises the female with sperm from a special organ located next to his mouth.
The assertion that living entities can suddenly pop into existence is, understandably, preposterous. However, there is a simple trick to delude one’s self into believing this fallacy: Simply excavate a pit, infuse it with water and patiently observe.
A few years back, thoughts of bricks and basil leaves occupied my mind during a visit to Tommy Earley, a beef farmer positioned adjacent to Lough Allen in Roscommon, nestled at the bottom of the Arigna valley. We surveyed a pond that he had artfully etched into one of his pastures. This celestial pool, formed from rainwater, was teeming with life and in reciprocation, nature had seized full possession of him.
In a glorious aquatic spectacle, all you need do is fill a hole with water and marvel as a breathtaking spectrum of life unfolds.
Earley relayed his experience with a creature which was foreign to him prior to its emergence in his pond: the dragonfly. The female of this species deposits her eggs in the water, which ultimately hatch into larvae.
“He described the captivating moment during a summer’s day when one observes larvae ascending a reed. A dragonfly would make its appearance out of the tiny shell, gradually revealing itself – first a wing, then another, mimicking the routine of getting out of bed. The body would then follow, still of a lime-green shade. Colour then starts to disseminate through each segment of its body, reminiscent of the light being turned on from one carriage to another in a dark train journey as dusk ensues. The sight, he guaranteed, is nothing short of remarkable.
Once out, the dragonfly transcends into a creature that can hover, reverse in flight, fly sheer, and descend, becoming an exhilarating spectacle especially when observed from a personal pond.
He shared how any open area, may it be of schools, clubs of different recreational activities, places of worship, horticulture areas, backyards, or spare working environments, can be put to good use.
Having developed 19 ponds in his own farmland, Earley spoke of how species start appearing even before the reservoirs are filled. He recounted an instance when he saw swallows at the side of an evolving pond, even as the excavators were working. At times, his place is visited by ducks like the type usually found in Lough Allen, the red-breasted merganser, drawn irresistibly by the lot of water bodies on his property.
Earley elaborated a curious fact under the microscope – a single drop of pond water paints a picture resembling a bustling disco. It’s filled with minuscule organisms moving in every direction and bumping into each other wildly. Among the first to appear are the hardly visible protozoa, a diverse group that includes tail-bearing and microscopic hair-covered types.
Green filamentous algae or ‘mermaid’s tresses’, spiralled with green, utilise sunlight for preparing their meal, similar to the slow-moving ‘volvox’ algae which appear like alien heads with eyes of neon green dots. Also present are oval-shaped paramoecium engaging in a spiral dance as they seek out microbes to ingest.”
Tiny creatures play a crucial role in determining what appears next in the ecosystem: smaller water crustaceans like the speckled water woodlouse, which eagerly feasts on any decaying vegetation or creatures that sink into the oxygen-starved deep water of a pond. Water woodlice are preyed upon by creatures such as minnows, sticklebacks, frogs, newts, and birds like herons and egrets. One highly fascinating interaction is when a dragonfly larva spies a woodlouse – it extends a hooked claw from beneath its head and skewers its prey, subsequently dealing with it using sharp, saw-edged mandibles.
Indigenous aquatic flora introduce oxygen into the water, maintaining its vitality and health. A beneficial resource is the recently published Aquatic Plants in Ireland, which is filled with images and data about aquatic plants found in Ireland’s ponds, rivers, brooks, ditches, bogs, and lakes. It provides facts on appealing oxygenators for ponds like the ivy-leaved crowfoot, which flourishes in shallow, cool places, and the floating frogbit, a magnet for critters such as damselflies and dragonflies.
Only a minor fraction of the population is lucky enough to possess agricultural land, yet carving out a pond, irrespective of its size, is worthwhile for the multiple positive impacts it produces – including how it becomes a central social point for people to congregate around. Any open space is ideal: schools, sports facilities, churches, private gardens, allotments, or any unused open areas at work.
The concept is uncomplicated: a hollow filled with water becomes home to a diverse spectrum of life. Although it’s not mysterious, witnessing the outcome personally can often be awe-inspiring.
Inland Fisheries Ireland has published Aquatic Plants in Ireland: A Photographic Guide, penned by Joe Caffrey, Ronan Matson, and Rossa O’Briain.