These cold mornings often have me wishing for spring.
On an icy morning a couple of weeks ago I went down to the pond to check the beaver trap and to cut some wood.
Our pond is fed by two creeks. One flows constantly and steadily. The other is more dependent upon the weather.
The pond was covered with a sheet of ice, but at the place where one of the creeks joins the pond, and where a tree had fallen in the water, I noticed something that seemed strange at first.
While the rest of the pond was still and frozen, this spot was gurgling and in motion. After pondering it for a few moments I realized what I was seeing. Beneath this spot is a spring, feeding into the pond and keeping this spot thawed.
I thought of the old joke about using spring water in car radiators, because it doesn’t freeze.
The creeks that empty into our pond are spring-fed. An uncle once told me, with pride, that there are seven springs on that creek. I can’t confirm that, but the old enclosure where the spring water was contained and eventually pumped to the farmhouse is still there. I can only imagine how marvelous that invention must have seemed to the folks who had been carrying it up in buckets all those years.
Until recently, folks built their homes not be close to a road, but to a spring.
As spring approaches, I’m thinking this morning of how important the other kind of springs were to our ancestors for thousands of years, and how little thought we give to them now.