I plunged my hands into the cool water watching the fish swirl away and school in the far side of the big tank. I was back at the pond store, just like last year, to add to the koi in our water garden. All but one of our fish survived in the new pond even with this amazingly harsh winter. Sorry, everyone on the East Coast, I know you’ve had it harder than we had it here in the middle of the country, but it was the worst winter I’ve ever seen here in Missouri. We had more snow, colder temperatures, and just plain serious winter here, so I watched the frozen pond and worried about our beautiful koi. We honestly worried that all the fish would be dead come spring, and then it was still snowing here in March. Again, it was the worst “spring” on record here because winter seemed here to stay, but the thaw finally came and we watched anxiously as the ice melted. Much to our surprise all the koi, save the one, survived. The pond has a very deep section in the middle with a rock that spills over it like a protective roof, and apparently it was enough shelter to keep them all safe and sound.
So, today we went back to the same pond store that I bought those hardy koi at, because the pond is huge and I love the koi. I’ve wanted a koi pond with enough fish in it to boil in a shining, mouth-gaping mass when you feed them, just like at the Botanical Gardens, for years. We have koi to feed, but to have that beautiful carnivorous looking boil we need more koi, which is why I was trying to catch some of those bright, swirling shapes that swam just out of reach.
Last year we’d sent pictures and used FaceTime to show Genevieve, our long distance girlfriend, as I added the first koi to the pond. The FaceTime had frozen and timed out, and finally we’d gone to talking on the phone to her as we walked around the pond and spilled those first shining fish into the water. We shared it as much as we could with her, but the technology that helped us stay in touch over hundreds of miles was very frustrating that day. Smart phones, tablets, and the internet in general allowed Long Distance Relationships, LDR, to work better than ever before, but last spring was about the time that it just wasn’t enough with Genevieve. We wanted more with her than just texting and shared pictures, or even phone calls. It just wasn’t satisfying enough after four years of dating.
Skip forward a year and today I was back at the same pond store walking among the pools of fish. I wasn’t talking on the phone with Genevieve this time, or sending pictures, because she was there beside me. We picked out the new fish together, plunging the net into the water, herding the fish towards each other with our hands, as if we were bears catching salmon, but we weren’t going to eat these fish. They were coming home with us because now Genevieve and her husband, Spike, are living here. Home is all four of us in one house now.
The fish swim and swirl through the water, quick silver, flashes of gold, shining white, Halloween orange and black, gray-blue like lightning kissed clouds, all dancing through the water, fins flicking, tails like lacy rudders. The butterfly koi are serpentine in their pools, graceful and delicate. The regular koi are heavier, more fish than serpent but still beautiful, shivering living pieces of art that open hungry mouths and run from our hands as if we really are hungry bears reaching down into their world of water and lifting them up into our’s of air.
It was Genevieve that remembered that it was only last spring that we had that frustrating day of koi and failed technology. We smiled at each other and reached across the car to touch. She said, “I’m so happy I’m here this year.”
“Me, too,” I said grinning at her.
She grinned back, and we drove home with our new fish. Home has always been a great word, but it’s even better this year because now, “home” holds the people we love under one roof, at last.
