Wild swimming

There was a bit of an incident chez nous this afternoon.

When we first installed our little wildlife pond we used to net it in the autumn, so that the huge number of leaves that come down from all our trees wouldn't blow into it and choke it. But back in the autumn of 2023 that didn't happen, because by the time the Southern Hawkers had stopped flying it was so wet down in the wild garden that the surrounding area was a swamp, and we couldn't get close enough to the pond to install the frame that R had built to hold the net clear of the water and plants. And then last summer we had the best season we've ever had for Southern Hawker emergences: I haven't submitted all my records yet, but I think there were at least twenty, whereas in previous years we'd only had one each season. So last autumn we made an active decision not to net - only to have the pond virtually disappear under fallen leaves during the autumn and winter gales.

Over the past week there's been a marked increase in insect activity in the area due to the ongoing spring warmth, so this afternoon I decided to clear out this huge quantity of leaves, to allow eggs to be deposited in the pond, and larvae to come out of it. This was a tedious job, and took a long time, because I put each handful of wet foliage into an old garden sieve and rinsed it, to wash any larvae or water snails back into the pond. It was also pretty tough on my back and knees, and I had to alternate between bending over to lift out the leaves, and kneeling at the pond edge on a two-handled garden kneeler.

I'd already filled one large muck bucket and was well on the way to filling a second one, but I was down near the final corner, and happy that the end of a thoroughly boring task was in sight, when I leaned forward to scoop out another handful.... and the kneeler tipped over, sending me head first into the water. While I can't claim that my entire life flashed in front of my eyes, one very clear thought went through my mind as I submerged, which was:

You can drown in four inches of water.

I also had a vivid picture of R arriving home from his walk and finding me floating, face-down and stone dead, and I knew that this was a distinct possibility if I didn't rapidly get myself the right way up again. The only positive was that I tend to stay pretty calm in a crisis (in marked contrast to the appalling fuss I make about small everyday annoyances), and I managed to hold my breath, grab hold of a clump of pond sedge, and make like a seal - arching my back and stretching up, until my head was back out of the water. At this point I should make it clear that this is a very small pond - about three feet wide by five long, if I remember correctly - and I'd been kneeling on one of the long edges, so I hadn't gone completely into the water. In fact, my legs were still on the bank from just above the knees, and the rest of me was now doing a kind of cobra pose: waist down in the water, but head tipped back and up, supported by my left arm on the clump of sedge, and - after a bit of extra effort - my right elbow out on the ground on the short side of the pond.

What to do now though? I didn't have the leverage to go backwards onto my knees, nor the reach to get myself safely forward onto the other long edge. And I didn't dare bring my legs down underneath me, because although the pond isn't deep, it is muddy, and I was frightened that I wouldn't be able to find a sound footing and I'd end up on my knees in the water. I was also very aware that my phone was now submerged, in the pocket of my gilet, and - a minor point in the circumstances, I suppose - I was afraid that if there was something sharp underneath the pond, my weight might cause it to pierce the liner, and we'd lose the pond altogether. While I was still calculating risks and rewards the decision became more urgent, because the clump of pond sedge started to collapse underneath me - so I gave a convulsive shove with my left arm, and managed to lift myself enough to roll to my right, out onto the grass. Where I stayed for several minutes, now very shocked and shaking.

I'd finally levered myself to my feet, removed my (working!!) phone from the muddy dampness of my gilet pocket and set it down in the sun to start drying out, and was wandering around the edge of the pond, picking out the last few leaves, when R arrived home. As he walked round the corner I said, "I could have done with you here ten minutes ago," and he looked at me - filthy and dripping - and said, "Oh. My. God. What the actual f...?" Which was a fair commentary in the circumstances, I thought.

I finished the job - because, after all that, there was absolutely no way I wasn't going to finish it, so I could cross it off the Bloody Garden List - and then went and sorted myself out. Gilet in the bin, shoes on the sunny patio to dry, every other stitch of clothing I'd been wearing straight into the wash, iPhone into the airing cupboard, me into the shower. Quite a lot of pond weed and a ram's horn snail came out of my hair onto the bathroom floor as I was getting undressed, and I was able to return them to the pond afterwards. Which was nice. And then dinner, and then I had to go out to the penultimate Campden Chorus rehearsal for tomorrow's performance of Haydn's Creation. All the while remembering the sensation of falling, and my face hitting the water, and thinking, Lucky I'm still here to be doing this, really.

One way and another, it was quite a day.