Chapter 5 - The Pond Was Poisoning ItselfMaggie ran the ammonia test again.
Same result.
She opened a new kit.
Same.
The reading was high enough to explain why the carp had become sluggish.
Uneaten feed and fish waste were accumulating faster than the pond’s natural bacteria could process them.
The pond was becoming toxic from the inside.
Maggie telephoned Denise.
“I’m feeding according to the chart.”
“According to what fish weight?”
“My samples.”
“And how much feed is actually being eaten?”
Maggie hesitated.
“Most.”
“Most isn’t a number.”
Maggie felt defensive.
“They need food to grow.”
“They need water they can survive in more.”
Silence.
Denise softened.
“This doesn’t mean the idea failed. It means your system changed as the fish grew.”
The solution required several adjustments.
Reduce feed temporarily.
Replace part of the pond water gradually.
Add gravel and shell material to increase surfaces for beneficial bacteria.
Increase aeration.
Maggie worked all day.
For four mornings she approached the pond expecting dead fish.
Three on the first.
Two on the second.
One on the third.
None on the fourth.
Ammonia began falling.
The fish started feeding again.
Maggie barely had time to feel relieved.
The old irrigation pump failed.
Not slowed.
Failed.
A bearing seized one afternoon with a grinding scream.
Maggie pulled the starter again.
Nothing.
She stared at the machine.
The repair estimate came close to the price of a used solar diffuser system she had been considering.
She could afford neither comfortably.
Her eyes eventually landed on her bicycle.
The bicycle carried her to the diner.
To the feed store.
To the extension office.
It also had value.
She sold it to a boy in town.
For less than she wanted.
Then walked home carrying the cash.
Mrs. Bell saw her coming.
“Where’s your bicycle?”
Maggie lifted the envelope.
Mrs. Bell’s face fell.
“You need transportation.”
“I need oxygen more.”
“You cannot walk fifteen miles forever.”
“Not forever.”
Maggie bought the used solar aeration system.
Lewis Grant helped haul it.
Maggie installed the lines.
When the diffuser finally came alive, bubbles rose steadily through the pond.
No gasoline.
No starter cord.
No emergency hose.
For twenty minutes Maggie simply watched.
Then Denise arrived.
Her expression told Maggie there was another problem.
“What?”
“You’re carrying too many fish.”
“I’ve already lost some.”
“Not enough to solve the density issue.”
Maggie stared.
“That sounds terrible.”
“I know.”
“They’re growing.”
“That is exactly why the problem changes. Four thousand fingerlings do not place the same demand on water as four thousand large carp.”
Maggie looked across the pond.
“What are you saying?”
“Thin the population.”
“Kill them?”
“No. Harvest or sell some early.”
“They aren’t market weight.”
“Then you accept a lower price.”
“I’ll lose money.”
“Maybe.”
Denise looked directly at her.
“Or you keep every fish because the original number matters to your pride and risk losing much more.”
That hurt because it was true.
Maggie spent two days calculating.
If she sold the largest fifteen percent to a bait supplier, the price would be disappointing.
But oxygen demand would drop.
Feed costs would fall.
Waste load would decrease.
The remaining fish might grow faster.
Selling felt like surrender.
Eventually she did it anyway.
Six hundred carp left in a transport truck.
A neighbor saw.
By evening, people were saying Maggie was liquidating before the pond collapsed.
Roy heard the rumor.
At Sunday dinner he shook his head.
“She’s getting whatever money she can before winter.”
No one contradicted him.
Maggie heard about his comment.
She said nothing.
Three weeks later, she sampled the pond.
The first carp weighed more than a pound.
The next, nearly a pound and a half.
Another pushed toward two.
The remaining fish were growing faster.
For the first time, reducing the number had made the project stronger.
Maggie smiled.
Then she looked west.
Black clouds were building across the county.
May you like
By nightfall, rain began.
By midnight, the pond was rising faster than she had ever seen.
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