Mark Hemingway at the pond.
Paula Hemingway
“Mark. Mark! Where are you?”
I searched every room of the house. Where could he be? I checked outside. No sign of my beloved husband. Maybe he’s jabbering with the neighbors on their patio. Nope.
I was about to call for a Silver Alert when I found him by the little pond behind our house.
I should have known.
Since we moved into our house at Robson Ranch, Mark has fed the fish our leftover bread. He says his fresh water friends are getting fatter and friendlier. They seem to hang around waiting for his meals-on-foot. They swim over to meet him when he walks to the shore. I call him the Fish Whisperer.
Another wildlife friend is a beautiful blue heron. He stands on one leg for hours, majestic and indifferent, but flutters off quickly if we come close to his territory. He’s even more resplendent when he soars in the air.
Once when Mark cast breadcrumbs into the water, he noticed Blue creeping toward him. The splash sounds as the fish darted and leaped to gobble up the free chow enticed Mr. Heron to make his move toward his own delectable dinner.
When Mark came in, he said, “I can’t believe how close that heron got to me. His desire for food must be stronger than his fear of me.” We watched at the window as Blue went on his fishing expedition.
One day we spotted our blue buddy’s tracks along the side of the pond. It’s fun to watch nature all around Robson Ranch and to fatten the fish for whoever wants to catch them, be it human or bird.