A surreal Sunday… Life, death and beauty

Posted on July 1, 2019 by Sue Vincent

You could see, just from Nick’s posture, that something was very wrong. As I walked towards the garden from the street where I had left the car, there was just something in the bleak way he was holding himself, looking out across the pond. So I was at least partly prepared. Just not enough. He didn’t need to say a word. As I stood beside him, the sight of floating bodies and the white bellies of fish that had sunk to the bottom told their own story.

My camera was in my bag, so I took pictures. …and this is not as horrible as it may sound. They are Nick’s fish, and Nick’s eyesight was one of the things damaged by the attack that left him unable to walk. The camera allows him to see things he would have no other hope of seeing. And, if we could learn from this disaster, it might help another fish.

The fish are already stressed by all the building work going on around them. The fountain was temporarily out of action while the new flower beds were being built, but the new pump and filter were acting as a waterfall, which should have been enough. We had already decided, that evening… when he called me about a butterfly that needed to be rescued…that we would clean them both out next morning as a matter of course. It wouldn’t be easy, with the garden a building site, and no handrails for Nick to get around…but we’d manage somehow. But we were a day too late.

There was no blame to anyone… except that the fish are in our care. It was a concatenation of circumstances. Temperatures had soared. No-one felt great or had the energy to think. The air was heavy and hard to breathe. The trouble is, that while oxygen in breathable air is measured in a couple of hundred-thousand parts per million, the available oxygen in a pond measures only in single figures… so any drop can be dangerous. And in very hot weather, it drops rapidly.

If we’d cleaned the filter and pump… if we’d made sure the fountain was reinstated… if I’d got dressed again and gone back into town to rescue the butterfly….if, if, if… but ifs and blame would serve no purpose and help no fish.  I dosed the pond with water conditioner and set the cool hosepipe to play over the surface to get the oxygen levels up.

We cleaned out the new filter and started a water change and while that was going, I jerry-rigged the fountain, connected the pipework and got the thing spewing out oxygenated water as fast as I could. The pump needed cleaning, the fall of water increasing… and when we had done all we could to get conditions in the water better, we faced the saddest of tasks.

We did not know how many or which fish were dead. We hoped that some of the ones we could see, at least, might ‘only’ be near death and could be saved…which is why we’d left them in there as we worked. Trooper, the ‘little fish who swam’, had taught us a great deal about hoping beyond reasonable hope where fish were concerned. We were not going to give up until we were forced.

Some of the fish hung at the surface, struggling dreadfully against their inability to breathe. There was hope there…as soon as the oxygen levels went up, they might recover. The great, white underbellies of all three sturgeon were visible as they lay on the bottom of the pond… we did not know if they would pull through. Sadly, though, there was at least one fish I knew for certain was beyond help…my friend, Simon, the bubble-blower. His was the first face I saw… and you could see it and feel it. The presence of life had left. And there were others.

We spread a sheet on the rough ground, unable to place their bodies on sharp stones, even though they would no longer know. With a face as wet as the pond, I took the net and began to remove the fish who had left us.

Ten fish, all of them magnificent, friendly creatures. And then, when I checked in the plants, a baby too. The whole family of barbels…the babies had been born in the pond. My friend Simon and a mirror carp. Fat Fish, who had survived so much. Bent-Tail who had taught so much. Another beautiful golden orfe…. It had been bad enough until then.  But there was yet another orfe, one with distinctive black markings upon his back. Trooper.

We checked each one before taking them out of the pond, wanting to be very sure. Some had already stiffened, Trooper had, apparently, not long passed. His eyes were still brilliant as we held him in the net, beneath the surface of the water with fresh water playing over him, hoping he would pull off yet another miracle, but it was not to be. Yet, as we watched and waited, I saw a fish swim by that looked like Trooper. For a moment, we both hoped… but it was only for a moment.  I laid him with the others, so Nick could say goodbye.

Once the fish had been wrapped and laid to rest, and after nearly three hours of solid work, I finally got to make us a much needed coffee. As the kettle was boiling, I caught sight of the trapped butterfly Nick had called about the night before. Opening the window, I ushered it outside, but, instead of flying off, it just dropped to the sill. After a day inside…and such a hot day… I thought it had to be dehydrated. I grabbed a pipette I use for testing the pond and took the fragile creature some honey and water.

I had expected it to be gone, but it was still there… and I watched as it uncurled the spiral proboscis to drink. It shook out its wings and flew…to my hand. I carried it across to where Nick was sitting by the pond… a small thing, but beautiful…and perhaps the light of one tiny life saved in face of such heartache would help and heal.

It flew from my hand…and found its own place to rest awhile. Not entirely practical, but neither butterfly nor perch seemed to mind much. I let the tiny creature crawl onto my finger and placed it in Nick’s hand with a pool of sweet water to drink. It took…and gave… what was needed, lifting hurting hearts a little, before it finally flew away.

Sunday or not, the gardeners, hearing what had happened, arrived to see what they could do to help. The three big sturgeon were still hanging in the water upside down… only the little white albino had begun to recover. They helped set up a better version of my jerry-rigged system and moved some plants so I could check for fish beneath them but the only further casualty was the gardener, who managed to saw his finger…

As we worked, our hearts were lifted once again as the Lancaster bomber circled three times, very low, right above Nick’s home. It is a plane that has its own history and memories, but it is more than that for us, as it speaks of family and love, of childhood and of the gifts and sacrifices unconditional love can make. A completely surreal moment… but it made us pause, and smile through different tears.

By the end of the afternoon, only two of the sturgeon were belly-up and they were still breathing. Everyone else looked okay, there was nothing more we could do except watch and we were both exhausted, covered in mud and fish-slime. A neighbour came round, out of the blue… a gentleman recently bereaved, offering just the right gesture to Nick and I left them to talk while I made food for Nick, in case he was hungry later.

Eventually, Nick sent me home, asking me to check the sturgeon one last time first. As I leaned over the pond, my sandaled foot caught the rock I had brought back from the Hebrides for the pond… and I found myself considering the small pool of blood pouring into the water. I decided that going home would be the safest course at that point…

I hadn’t been home long when the phone rang. After the shocked expletives had died down, Nick told me how he’d seen one of the remining orfe shoot itself out of the pond to land, on the opposite side of the garden, near the roses, with an incredible leap. Without handrails, neither I nor Nick have any idea how he managed to get around the pond in time to pick it up. “I must have thrown it back into the water…” He’s cut himself on the rescue mission… the third of us to do so in the same spot in the garden that day, all in different ways… but nothing to worry me.

Oddly, the fish he had rescued was the same orfe I had momentarily mistaken for Trooper as we were watching him in the net. “He’s swimming just in front of me now,” said Nick. “He doesn’t seem to want to leave…” As if saying, thank you, perhaps? “I will name him ‘Icarus’.”

I know… it is a long post for ‘a few fish’. But these were not ‘just’ fish… they were beings with their own characters, alien to us, perhaps, but not entirely. We shared fragments of the same life and knew each other in a way that reached across the barriers of species. We cared for them… and as we wait to see whether the sturgeons will make it through the night, we can look back on the life-lessons we have learned from these fish. And they are many and valuable lessons, from the lightly philosophical to the deepest lessons of love and hope.

It was a  surreal day, with so many emotions, so many random, weird things happening… as if life and fish were conspiring to teach us yet another lesson. What this time? That love knows no limits, regardless of species… or any other label? That we are here to participate in life… not as spectators, nor even as actors, but to live it, feel it… immerse ourselves in it?  Or perhaps simply that no moment is so bleak that neither beauty nor hope can exist… even if they, like life itself, are as fragile and ephemeral as a butterfly.

About Sue Vincent

Sue Vincent was a Yorkshire born writer, esoteric teacher and a Director of The Silent Eye. She was immersed in the Mysteries all her life. Sue maintained a popular blog and is co-author of The Mystical Hexagram with Dr G.M.Vasey. Sue lived in Buckinghamshire, having been stranded there due to an accident with a blindfold, a pin and a map. She had a lasting love-affair with the landscape of Albion, the hidden country of the heart. Sue  passed into spirit at the end of March 2021.
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86 Responses to A surreal Sunday… Life, death and beauty

  1. Sadje says:
    July 1, 2019 at 06:35

    It is so sad that this happened. So sorry

    Liked by 1 person

    Reply
  2. Michael says:
    July 1, 2019 at 07:02

    So very sad…:(

    Liked by 1 person

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  3. smilecalm says:
    July 1, 2019 at 08:32

    sorry hearing of so much
    loss of fishies
    you cared for 😦

    Liked by 1 person

    Reply
  4. TanGental says:
    July 1, 2019 at 08:57

    That’s a roller coaster of a post and the butterfly drinking. Ah the memory that brought
    It cheered me muchly so thank you for opening that little avenue of thought.

    Liked by 1 person

    Reply
  5. jenanita01 says:
    July 1, 2019 at 09:07

    So sorry to hear of your disaster, Sue, for I know how hard you work to keep the fish healthy and how much they mean to Nick. The sight of them all lying there broke my heart. The butterfly moment didn’t help with the tears, I cried all over again reading about it…

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  6. Jane Dougherty says:
    July 1, 2019 at 09:12

    It’s so sad to see creatures die, especially creatures that you know and care about personally. You must have a big pond to have fitted all that crowd in! I hope the sturgeon pulls through and the spirit of Trooper carries on.

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  7. Victoria Zigler (@VictoriaZigler) says:
    July 1, 2019 at 11:15

    I’m so sorry… Such sad news. I’m glad you were able to save some of them at least, and the butterfly too.

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  8. fransiweinstein says:
    July 1, 2019 at 12:03

    As tragic as your day was, against all odds, you also saved a butterfly and some of the fish. Love, respect for all life and pure will gave you and your son the power to do that. There is a huge lesson in there.

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  9. H.R.R. Gorman says:
    July 1, 2019 at 17:27

    An incredible story. So glad I could stop by and read this – it’s so often we forget things such as fish are alive and have feelings, and this does so well to remind us of the importance of all creatures.

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  10. V.M.Sang says:
    July 1, 2019 at 17:42

    So sorry to read about the fish, but it’s an incredible tale. And the butterfly. A moment of hope in disaster.

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  11. rivrvlogr says:
    July 1, 2019 at 20:02

    What a harrowing day. Nature is such a delicate balance, but it’s clear that you both are tender keepers.

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  12. Deborah Jay says:
    July 1, 2019 at 20:27

    So sorry to see this – what magnificent fish they were. I well remember the challenges of keeping an indoor tank of tropicals healthy – every water change brought losses no matter how careful we were, but excessive heat is a true killer, and not just of fish. So glad we don’t live in France.

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    • Sue Vincent says:
      July 1, 2019 at 20:55

      My tropicals like water changes… and get a partial one weekly, but it was a learning curve. The pond is usually more forgiving…but the heat was the finalstraw. having spent the best part of a decade living in France, I doubt I’d have attempted keeping a koi pond there for that reason.

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  13. joylennick says:
    July 1, 2019 at 21:34

    Such a harrowing experience for you and Nick, for life for all creatures is precious to them and whoever cares for them. x

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  14. pensitivity101 says:
    July 1, 2019 at 23:24

    So sad. We see fish near the surface in the lake in the park… the lake that does not sustain fish, yet there are some huge mirror carp and fantails there, dumped it is believed by residents who have lost interest or fish won at the fair. They come to the surface for oxygen on hot days, and we have had a few scorchers lately. There are a couple who are pale bellied and curved when perhaps they shouldn’t be. Beautiful to watch in motion, sad to see when dying.

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  15. dgkaye says:
    July 2, 2019 at 00:32

    Sorry for the loss of fish Sue. And like you said, surreal. But the butterfly hung around to show you hope ❤

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  16. Jennie says:
    July 2, 2019 at 00:44

    This is sad. You tell the story so well, Sue, with heart. I think the butterfly and the Lancaster bomber were signs. Good signs. How is Nick doing?

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  17. willowdot21 says:
    July 2, 2019 at 01:36

    So sad Sue, I am reading posts out of sinc I am at loss as what to say. Apart from I am sure the fish know ,in their on way that they were loved. Take care of yourself 💜

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  19. TamrahJo says:
    July 2, 2019 at 02:55

    Ahh – the butterfly – the bomber- the things that show up when we need them the most – Alas, I racked up the ‘oh, my, I killed it!” list for garden plants, once again this year, as I ‘planned’ for bedding plants, but given weather/work schedule/unexpecteds, not only didn’t them in (at least this year!) well watered ground, BUT also managed to not keep them hydrated enough while sitting indoors – and – while I looked at them, and mourned and thought, “How many murders through my actions will I have to answer for – someday?” – I felt a tickle on my leg, and looked back, and there was Oakley girl, standing beside me, trying to show support, but also, saying, “I’m still here! You haven’t killed me through neglect, yet” – and the next morning, walking out to the truck, the older, lame on one leg Robin, that missed 2 springs ago, but has shown back up, was sitting right where I would see him, even if I was in ‘hurry, hurry, off to work, mind on work day ahead’ mode – – sigh – sometimes, I think, the world around us does their best to ‘walk with us while we mourn’ – Hugs and Luvs to you and Nick!

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    • Sue Vincent says:
      July 2, 2019 at 06:07

      Yes, it is so beautiful when these small things come to comfort and share with us. We had a robin too…
      Hugs to you x

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      • TamrahJo says:
        July 2, 2019 at 07:29

        I saw your robin and thought of mine, and realized, “did I do more than say, “Oh! Thank you Grandfather robin, for still being alive and dropping in to say hi, but I have to check on my battered by 4 hails storms and one tornado, rhubarb, before I jump in my truck and head off to work – Bye – nice to see ya” – and later thought, at work, “Why didn’t I just stop, look at him and say, “So glad to see you again – was afraid you might have been gone from this plain – so happy you are still around and visited me – ” and stopped to connect, instead of giving a nod and rushing by – sigh – I do have a really soft spot for my local Robin who visits – – 🙂

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        • Sue Vincent says:
          July 2, 2019 at 07:44

          I know… I talk to mine a lot. We whistle at each other… I think he thinks I’m hilarious, getting everything wrong, but he indulges me. 🙂

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          • TamrahJo says:
            July 2, 2019 at 07:59

            yup – the landscape around here, I’m certain, both flora and fauna, indulge me, quite a bit – I sometimes catch them doing that head tilt and half-grimace, half grin while they chatter amongst themselves, “Yes, she is all human, but, she is sorta funny to watch when she’s stumbling around trying to find her way, ain’t she?” – – LOL. at least, that’s the BEST story I can usually come up with on what all the lively chatter is all about – turns out, there was a hunting bird approaching from the ethers where jets usually set course and/or, the plants were letting loose with ‘duck/cover, another hail storm fast approching!” – but me, in my human hubris, believe they are chattering away to keep me company and welcome me to their share in their ‘world’ if I sit still enough and quiet enough to fully ‘listen’ to the world’s playing out around my town lot/slice of heaven on earth – :). LOL –

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  20. Marilyn Armstrong says:
    July 2, 2019 at 04:49

    I hope you are going to drain and completely clear the pond, just in case there’s something you haven’t yet detected in or close to the water. Fish can be so sensitive to something in the water … a relatively small PH difference can be life and death to them. That must have made you feel perfectly awful. I’m so sorry!

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    • Sue Vincent says:
      July 2, 2019 at 06:12

      We have a complete water testing kit for the chemical composition and balance…and take enormous care of anything that might get or leech into the water. We change part of the water regularly and have the hoover to clean the sides and bottom as well as the pumps… it is crsytal clear. It was ‘just’ the unexpected dreadful heat that took the oxygen… over a hundred degrees, which is so unusual here.

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  21. Widdershins says:
    July 2, 2019 at 06:42

    Sometimes the Spirit of the Land requires the Blood of it’s carers … sometimes metaphorical, and sometimes corporis … and then there was the butterfly, and Icarus. 🙂

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  22. Alli Templeton says:
    July 2, 2019 at 13:41

    Oh Sue, I read this with tears in my eyes. A real rollercoaster of a day, indeed. Heartbreaking indeed, and then all those little signs of hope. Butterflies are supposed to be the spirits of those who have passed on, so it seems more than a bit strange, and moving, that one landed on Nick like that. My heart goes out to you both. ❤ ❤

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  23. macjam47 says:
    July 3, 2019 at 14:30

    Oh, Sue, what a sad day. I’m glad you could save some fish, though I know the loss of the others still hangs heavy on your heart. I’m sure Nick is thankful for those who survived and in time his pond will be back to normal. This heat is getting everyone – people, animals, and fish alike. 💕🤗💕

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  24. Adele Marie says:
    July 3, 2019 at 21:54

    Oh, Sue, my sympathies to you and Nick. What a horrible task, but the butterfly showing hope and the neighbours who rallied round. So sorry this happened. xxx

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  26. anwengoodacre says:
    August 14, 2019 at 13:44

    I enjoyed reading. Thank you.

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