Sunday November 3 2002, beautiful clear sunny afternoon, following
several nights well below freezing here in the Cascade foothills. After
lunch, Im on the porch drinking tea, enjoying a very quiet windless
moment, watching a song sparrow flitting around the edge of the thin
ice layer on the pond. I hear a noise to my left, kind of a sharp,
short creaking sound, and thinking birds, my mind says ?avian alarm
call? and I look left, but see no bird, nothing. I wait and watch.
All is quiet again. Suddenly within seconds of hearing that first
noise, I hear it again, and then again, from there, directly in front of
me, but again, no bird, no apparent movement, nothing. Then, something
quite remarkable happened. The ice, along with the water level at the
south end of this small ornamental pond ( 16 feet wide, 42 feet long, 6
feet deep), suddenly began to drop, the rapidly changing water level
clearly displayed by the rising wet line on the rocks at the waters
edge . ?Oh my gosh?, I thought, ?the pond has sprung a leak.? Then I
hear something to the north, and turn eyes right. Along the northern
edge, the ice, along with the water level is rising, with small flows
of water forcing themselves up through cracks in the ice along the rocky
edge. The ice creaks and cracks as the water gently churns up, levels
off, and then begins to subside. Simultaneously the water and ice on
the south end begins to rise, and the entire icy surface of the pond is
rocking gently back and forth, up on one end, down on the other, but
relatively unchanging at the midpoint. I watch transfixed, having
noticed absolutely no other movement that would indicate earthquake. I
call to Lynn who is working in the garden nearby, ?Look at the pond,
QUICK !? , and together we watch, wondering what could be happening.
Pieces of floating deadwood (placed there for dragonflies), are gently
bumping back and forth against the ice, as the rocking begins to
diminish. It is as if we were standing at the edge of a large quiet
lake, and some silent waves, from an unseen distant ship had just lapped
up on shore. As quickly as it began, it ended. I was thrilled. It was
as if this small slumbering pond had just turned over, and gone to sleep
for the winter. Within several minutes, all was again quiet, and still ,
except for the song sparrow, who went back to patrolling the edge of the
ice.

Stan Kostka
lynnandstan at earthlink.net
Arlington