Green Island
The invasive colony of pennywort that I planted began to take over my water garden. With little open space to swim, the flourishing tadpoles that inhabited my pond were in danger of being constricted. I remedied the ecological imbalance by thinning out the spreading plants and ignorantly throwing them over our property fence into a concrete culvert.
As my pond once again flourished, I forgot about the network of life that I disposed of. As several weeks passed, I noticed that the nightly chorus of frogs that congregated in my water garden echoed from the dark abyss hatched into the suburban fabric. While watering my nursery, I peered down the twelve-foot embankment that secured a stream no more than an inch deep. I was surprised to see a flourishing island of green against the linear expanse of concrete gray.
As the green island’s alien beauty grasped my attention I began to worry. What if the invasive non-native pennywort overan the entire culvert? Could it colonize the more natural areas downstream, across the freeway?
I decided to climb down the Algerian Ivy that crept over the concrete slope in order to remove the green island. As I gathered the network of roots and put them in a plastic pot, invisible life leeched out. Tiny tree frogs leaped and garter snakes slithered away, caught in a streamline flow. In five minutes, the island oasis became a terrestrial mound left to decompose out of existence.
That night, I sat on a bench by my water garden listening to the chorus of frogs. But a silent echo drowned-out the melody.
