Life at Beck Farm's Frozen Pond

Rowan sat very still as the stag approached the frozen pond. He had tried for days hoping for an ideal encounter. Carefully, he raised his camera and clicked some shots in rapid succession. "Hello, old friend," he murmured as he reviewed the shots in the back of his camera. Fondly, he remembered his first chance encounter with Big Stag three years ago when taking photographs for an article he wrote called "Life at Beck Farm's Frozen Pond." That day changed everything.

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Rowan had not thought the assignment would be hard. It was a 600 to 2000 word piece on local wildlife. Also required were companion photos. Rowan wasn't a top notch photographer but was confident he could provide adequate photos. The one-thousand-dollar fee was plenty inspiring to send him rummaging around in his childhood room at the farm for his gear. He also knew the pond there would provide an ideal back drop. It was the one place where all wild creatures came. He estimated he should be able to get enough photos in one afternoon and then a couple of days to do the write up. Since the deadline was three weeks away, he had more than plenty of time. That was his thought anyway, from a procrastinator's viewpoint.

Two weeks passed with Rowan hanging out in his flat in the city, but not idly. He built two book cases that had arrived weeks ago and had been propped in their shipping boxes behind his bedroom door. They weren't going to build themselves and the books in stacks littered throughout his flat weren't going to magically lift off the floor and shelve themselves. They were his grandfather's books and per Rowan's promise to keep each and every one, he had been ferrying them home a little at a time. But now, littered throughout his flat, they were a nuisance to live around. Plus, there were still more to be brought home.

Since his Grandfather's passing six months earlier, Rowan was supposed to be getting the farm ready to put up for sale, but his procrastination was in full swing. He didn't want to sell the farm but he just couldn't afford to keep it. It turned out his grandfather had taken out loans on the place to pay his mounting medical bills. Even though Rowan hadn't lived on the farm for nearly five years, it was his childhood home. And he had spent a lot of time there until his grandfather got too sick to stay at the farm alone. After Grandpa Beck was moved to an elder care facility just two miles from Rowan's flat, he hadn't been to the farm except for quick jaunts to make sure all looked well. There hadn't been much point going there if Grandpa Beck was here. But now that Grandpa Beck had passed, Rowan had been making trips several times a month clearing things out of the house. It was a very tough thing to do.

Per Rowan's usual procrastination habit, he'd let the building of the bookcases go and only now that he planned to leave town for a few days to take photos for his assignment, was it suddenly pressing to deal with them. Plus, he would be bringing back another car load of his grandfather's books. "Yep, Rowan ole' boy. Whatever else you might be, you're definitely a procrastinator. But this can't wait any longer. Gotta' get it done. Today is as good a day as any." Rowan knew that when the itch to do something struck, he needed to tear into it and stick to it until he was done. It could be months before the whim struck again.

After much swearing, finger smashing, losing and finding tools, dropping a board on his bare toe, way too many beers, and late, hung-over mornings, the shelves were finally done. That took only eight days of the fourteen. The other six days were dedicated to shelving books, un-shelving books and re-shelving books to get just the perfect arrangement. Rowan seemed to have a propensity towards being OCD, when he wasn't procrastinating that is.

Finally, he was ready to go to the farm. Rowan made the two hour drive quicker than he should in just under an hour and twenty minutes. He was anxious to get settled in before dark. The sky had clouded up and a cold front was noticeably moving in. Overnight, frigid temperatures and snow changed everything. The farm was now a winter wonderland.

Frustrated he looked out the window at the fresh laid snow. There wasn't any way it was going to melt by noon. Not today or any day soon. He rustled through Grandpa Beck's belongings to find warm clothes since his packing left him ill prepared for this weather. He was doubtful now that he would get the photos he needed. Surely the animals would all go to ground or whatever they do when its cold. But a trek to the pond would be good exercise and a change of pace, so off he set.

Day One

As he arrived at the pond, he noticed an old tree. At one time, there had been a rope tied in its branches. He and cousins used to grab it and swing out into the pond to drop. That wasn't something he'd be doing today. But it did bring smiles to remember their childhood play. He hadn't allowed himself such simple frivolity in a very long time. It was right about then he saw it, flitting from branch to branch. A cardinal, beautifully red, contrasting against the wintry back drop. Rowan had read once, that cardinals signified a passed loved one was near.

Perfectly poised, it sat on a branch as though waiting for the snap of Rowan's camera. A few clicks later Rowan had several good shots he could use. Try as he might, Rowan saw nothing more of interest after two hours. He trekked back home feeling rather defeated. With only six days left, he was down to the wire on meeting his deadline. He couldn't write the story until he had the photos because he wouldn't know what he was writing about until he captured their image.

Day Two

The next day Rowan set out to the pond again. Surveilling the land around him, he noticed a coyote slinking through the field. Rowan remembered Grandpa Beck telling him coyotes were known for their cunningness. A few quick clicks caught some nice shots. As with the day before, Rowan saw nothing else of interest for his camera's lens to capture. Back to the farmhouse he trekked in another round of defeat.

Day Three

Now on the third day of trying to capture wildlife photos, Rowan was realizing his challenge was much greater than he had imagined. He was regretting his procrastination and not coming to the farm two weeks ago. He could easily have flipped his assignment with the making of the book cases. It wouldn't have mattered if they sat a while longer, he thought ruefully sipping his hot coffee. Again he prepared to trek to the frozen pond.

Today, he caught sight of a squirrel that simultaneously caught sight of him. Rowan expertly snapped off a few shots. Another memory, "squirrels symbolize preparedness, abundance, and new life." Rowan's only regret was there wasn't more wildlife on the move. Or was there? The squirrel instantly on the alert, it swiveled to look at the far side of the pond. It was then that Rowan saw them.

A herd of deer the likes of which Rowan had never seen were gathered in the tree line. Grandpa Beck used to tell him stories about how there were sixty of them. Rowan always thought it was a fantastical tall tale to amuse him and his cousins as children. And yet, here they were. If not the full sixty, it must easily be thirty.

Rowan's pulse quickened. That could mean that Grandpa Beck's tale of Big Stag might be true as well. Quietly he crouched behind a tree. He knew from hunting trips with Grandpa Beck as an adolescent, a buck wouldn't step out if the females were on alert. It only took a few of those trips for Rowan to determine that hunting for sport was not his thing. Not even with the assurances that the meat and all parts were used. He could not get excited about seeing something beautifully alive and then its life quickly ended. Instead, Rowan took up the camera. And he hunted down all manner of things to take photos of whether animate or inanimate. But as happens when youth get older, Rowan had set aside his camera for other things. It wasn't until this assignment that he thought of his camera again. Now he was glad he had kept it.

The does relaxed and began to graze and drink from the pond. As Rowan's knees began to ache and his toes go numb, Big Stag finally stepped out of the tree line and gingerly approached the frozen pond. It was at that moment that a goose flapped down onto the pond setting the deer on alert.

"Damn," Rowan muttered thinking all was lost. And then the perfect moment happened. Big Stag lifted his head and looked straight at him.

As Rowan aimed his camera and adjusted his lens for zoom, it was as though Big Stag stared straight into his eyes. Grandpa Beck always said if you could look Big Stag in the eye, he would grant you a wish. As Rowan snapped the camera, Big Stag nodded his head up and down as if to confirm Rowan's thought about the wish. Then Big Stag turned majestically and strode away into the woods with does scampering around him.

"Well, Big Stag, what should I do with my one wish?" Rowan shrugged it off and trekked back to the farm house.

With enough photos now taken, Rowan considered heading back to his flat to write up his story. But on second thought, he decided to stay the night and go through more of Grandpa Beck's things and load up some more books. Nostalgia was wreaking havoc with him as he found some photo albums. Some were hunting trips. Others were pictures of Grandpa Beck with his parents. A pang struck Rowan as he remembered that summer when he was eight. His parents had died in a car crash. It was then that he came to live with Grandpa Beck. And now, after his passing, Rowan had no one left. His cousins had moved away long ago. And now the farm would be lost. Rowan kicked a bookcase and swore softly. A stack of books came dislodged and toppled to the floor.

Rowan stood looking at the heap of collapsed books. Irritated, he thought to go drink himself to sleep when he saw something peculiar. Several one hundred dollar bills were on the floor. Picking up the books, some odd papers also slid from a few books. They were war bonds.

Chills suddenly went through Rowan as he remembered Grandpa Beck's words to him, some of the last he ever spoke, "Rowan, promise me you'll keep my books. Keep them every one. There's wealth in those books. I want you to have every drop." Rowan had thought Grandpa Beck delirious, sliding in and out of consciousness in his final days. But every time he had a fluid moment, Grandpa Beck had said, "My books. Keep my books Rowan." Now Rowan understood why. As Rowan picked up book after book and shook them out, there were either bills or bonds that fell out of them. Some had more than others.

Indeed, there was wealth in those books. Rowan would not be losing the farm after all. Teary eyed, Rowan whispered, "Thank you Big Stag."