Tryangulation has a post today about the freedom for children to get dirty. In response, I want to share my recent piece on my childhood play in the mud.
The
Pond
Today's
Saturday. The sun is out. I'm in second grade. I have on my old
clothes. It rained Tuesday, Wednesday and yesterday this week. It
rained lots last week, too. The path from our front yard to the pond
is squishy. I can see the spot where there aren't any wheels of old
Queen Anne's lace. That's where the pond is. It always dries up by
the end of the summer and then comes back in the spring.
Last year I
caught pollywogs in the pond. Mommy gave me a Mason jar to put them
in. I watched their legs grow and their tails get smaller. Every
day I'd check to see if they looked different. I brought them back
to the pond when their legs got big. Frogs can't live in a jar with
just water and no rocks. They'd drown. And besides we couldn't have
them jumping around in my room.
I see the
pond. Crayfish have built little clay towers. It looks like
somebody used a cake decorating tube to squeeze ruffles of mud around
their holes. The holes are big enough for a snake to crawl in.
I've never seen any snakes, so far.
Over there it
looks like maybe there was a building. It's a pile of melted clay
bricks. Some come together to make a corner . The whole mess is the
color of the bottom of the pond.
I'm looking
for pollywogs.
There
are tiny fish swimming in a group. They are kind of silvery and many
colored like the inside of a shell. I don't think they're tadpoles.
Tadpoles don't turn up in groups. I see a cloud of dust in the
water. There's a crayfish. I poke a stick in front of it to see if
it will grab on. It just swims around it.
A
pollywog is near the edge of the shallow water. I reach around
behind me to get my empty jar. I don't want to scare it away. As I
scoop up the water, the pollywog scoots away. I try not to get my
feet wet but I want to see where it went. Water is starting to leak
in through the sides of my sneakers. I squat down closer to the
water being careful not to get all wet. I see another pollywog with
tiny knobs where its feet will be. I quickly scoop my jar through
the water. At the last minute, the pollywog swims out of the jar.
When the water clears, I watch for another pollywag.
After
two minutes, another tadpole swims near me. I scoop with the jar and
as soon as it's inside, I put my other hand over the top. I feel the
tadpole bumping into my fingers. I keep my hand tightly over the
jar until it is out of the water. I look. There is nothing in the
jar.
My
hands are cold and my feet are cold. Does that slimy line mean there
is a snake? I'll come back tomorrow and bring something bigger to
put over the top of the jar.
I
take off my shoes outside. . Mommy is in the kitchen making
cookies.
“What's
that pile of mud that looks like bricks next to the pond?”
“That
was supposed to be a building but it washed away” Mommy says.
“Why
did it wash away?”
“The
blocks were made with clay from the pond and grass, she said. “They
were trying to use local materials from the landscape. But it wasn't
practical.”
I
thought about that. “Why would somebody try to do that?”
“Do
you know who Frank Lloyd Wright is?” she asks.
“Yes,”
I say. “Daddy has pictures of his houses.”
“It
was his idea to use the local clay. I guess nobody told him how much
it rains here,” she adds. “Help me roll the balls for these
snickerdoodles,” she says. “Wash your hands first.”
"Okay."
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