This is Part One of a three-part series about my relationship with what became my golden Goose Pond.
One morning, after more than two years of walking to and roaming around the farmlands of the Beltsville Agricultural Research Center (BARC), I discovered a golden pond — a pond I eventually called Goose Pond — located approximately three miles from my home.
Goose Pond is, in fact, a retention pond for a nearby water purification facility and pump station for the center section of BARC’s 6,500 acres. I had walked by the facility countless times and on January 6, 2019, ventured onto an adjacent dirt road. Ten minutes later off to the left of the road, I noticed a locked chain-linked gate. Why was it locked? What was there? I stepped up to the gate and discovered the retention pond, hidden by a perimeter of tall trees. Through the chain link, I took the following photo:
Over the next several months, I took dozens of photos through the locked gate.
Then in July, finally noticing how the water always reflected the clouds, I “set up” a shot through the gate. In other words, I took the time to “frame” it. Honestly, I didn’t know what I was doing, but somehow I knew.
Then, on the morning of October 19, 2019, I discovered the gate open. I walked in and saw that the banks of the pond, in preparation for dredging, had been partially cleared of all trees, bushes and undergrowth. I walked along the bank and took my first photograph of the sunrise at Goose Pond, unencumbered by any chain link gate or fence.
Over the next several months, I became fascinated with the water and the sky and took hundreds of photos.
By the beginning of 2020, I had completely bonded with Goose Pond and its sunrises. I showed up. I talked (aloud). The pond listened and responded.
NEXT — PART TWO: After thousands of sunrise photos, my golden Goose Pond — which had become one of my pandemic refuges — outgrows me.
I have spent hours this year going through what began as 14,000 photographs of BARC, half of them of Goose Pond. I have deleted approximately 2,000 and edited another 1,000. I’m up to April 25, 2020 with 4,000 more to edit. All of the photos were captured with an iPhone 7 that is now so old and weary that I must carry a portable charger because it doesn’t hold a charge for more than a couple of hours. (I know, I know, time to get a new iPhone.)
This series will NOT feature these sunrises as much as it will highlight the bank that became my small “pew,” a place for contemplation and healing. This place became a refuge. A sanctuary.
Gorgeous photos. It has been a sanctuary for me, too, with the calendar photos you’ve gifted me which sit on my meditation altar. I look forward to hearing the rest of the story. One question, what is the line in the water that appears in the July 13, 2019 photo? Is it something floating in the water or a fiber on your camera lens? I tried enlarging the photo, but it remains a mystery. It doesn’t appear to be reflected from anything. Thanks for sharing your sanctuary.
Thanks, Beth.
Good eye. That “line” is some sort of metal pole or something related to the function of the retention pond, I think. I really haven’t a clue. I was able to avoid it in photos once I had access to the bank.
Also, thanks for looking at the photos so closely. Means a lot. xoxo
Breathtaking. Your artistry bursts through like the sunlight.
Kelly—you enter a room and sunlight bursts through!
Thank you for taking a moment on your BIRTHDAY to champion me. 🎉🎂💕💕😘
Signs of a good photographer. Able to find and capture the beauty of a retention pond. You also have a way of making it look much larger than it is. Kudos.
Thanks, Adrienne. I never knew it was a retention pond until a few months ago. And you’re right — it’s very small.
Magnificent photos. Thank you! Your pond sanctuary sits in our living room as well–a constant jolt of joy!
So wish all the places we think of as sanctuaries could call us into the “silence of eternity” as this place calls to you. So often our church “sanctuaries” are more like club houses with a few scattered sacred pictures on the walls or in the windows, and they are so often filled with noisy chatter and inattentiveness. So grateful you have this sacred space!
Preach it, Carol! Now this is a sermon I can listen to!
You nailed why I really don’t like church or its “sanctuaries” very much. Thanks for appreciating what this natural sanctuary means to me.
In PARTS TWO and THREE of this story, you’ll learn how this sacred space reclaimed itself. It’s kinda sad, but I’m not sure. I’ll probably find out when I write about it. xoxo
Oh WOW–your relationship to Golden Goose Pond reminds me of Wendell Berry and his poem the Peace of Wild Things (?) He speaks of lying down with the wood drake and so on as a way to get peace when he is overwhelmed. Or perhaps Thoreau and Walden Pond. Your photography evokes these giants and yet your experience and photos are your own and invite a freshness. We need the sunrise and the pond and nature now as never before –thank you for the reminder and the gift. I look forward to Parts II and III.