text: Three miles south of the harbor there's a small reservoir by the sea. I've walked around that pond no more than five times in my life, but each time there was a kind, older gentleman sitting on the levee that kept the salt water out. When I passed him, I'd smile and nod and he'd do the same in return. He kept a tackle box and a small fishing net with him, but I never saw him catch anything. I always assumed no fish could survive in the grubby water. But the old man had sat there waiting for them as long as I can remember. I pulled my coat tight as the sea spray pelted my back on my walk along the beach. My feet automatically find the path ahead of me, my mind had been focusing on the worries of tomorrow. I realize where I am before tripping over a bucket. The old man by the pond slowly raises his gaze from the turbulent water and smiles as warmly as always. "I'm Josh, by the way," I blurt out. I hold out my hand and he gently shakes it. "I see you out here all the time, catch anything?" "Nice to meet you, Josh," he replies. He gets up off his stool and stretches, I wince at the sound of his old bones grinding and popping. "Ahh, I needed to stand. Care to walk around the pond with me?" I hesitate but nod and we begin our slow meander around the edge. He pulls a small brown paper packet out of his pocket and pours some of the contents into his weathered, knotted hands. It's pungent stench causes my eyes to water. He takes the handful and carefully scatters it into the water below. The surface ripples as the fish come up to the surface and splash and writhe as they fight to get a bite of the food. "Pardon the smell, just a bit of food for our aquatic friends here." He hands me the bag to take a look. The initial shock gone, the food actually smells sickly sweet. "Go on, give it a try." I dump a small amount into my hand and give it a toss. I see the multitudes come up from the depths and again fight for each morsel. I notice the variety of the pond for the first time, each fish appears to be of a different species, but they all love the food equally. The old man smiles and we keep walking "What do you do with them when you catch them? Do you even catch them?" "Well, I wouldn't eat any of these, they're still very immature. This pond is an old farm used to help the young fish spawn in safety so they can thrive out there." He gestures back to the great blue ocean behind us. "That's why I use a net. I'm taking the ones that are ready to go and setting them off along their journey." "How did they get in here to start? Does someone stock them in there?" "Nope, they restock themselves. I put a few in years and years ago and they just went to town. Quite the sustainable system." "But don't all of these different species fight with each other? Don't they see the others as competition?" "Of course, that's why I pull them out when they get too big. If I left them in, they'd kill each other and I'd have to start over." "Very interesting," I say. We continue the walk and end up back at the stool we had started at. He slowly sits back down and gestures for me to sit with him. I sprawl out in the cool grass and we watch the seagulls circle the pond, looking for an easy meal. Seeing none, they eventually abandoned their effort. The muck and algae growing in the pond camouflaged the fish inside perfectly. "How do you keep them safe?" I ask. "Surely someone could come and fish for them or they could be eaten by birds or something." "Well, it's not a perfect paradise in there. Sometimes a few get picked out by the egrets that come by, or occasionally there's diseases or heat spells that can kill a few off before they are ready for the ocean. But the few that make it to maturity and get to the ocean thrive. I can't imagine they would be happy living in small, safe aquariums. They'd never fully mature or be ready for the ocean if they did." "How do you know when they're mature?" "You can kind of tell when you've done this as long as I have. Some of them are eager to go. Some go thrashing and biting the whole way. But once they realize they're in the ocean, they jump for joy. It's really quite the sight to see, you'll have to stick around until I catch a few." "That's amazing! Do they all want to go to the ocean?" "No." The old man wiped a tear from his eye. "Some flat out reject it. As soon as I pull them out with my net, the life drains from their eyes and they go limp. Some get into the salt water and beach themselves, the gulls pick them off quickly after that." "Can't you train them? Or introduce them to the ocean for a little while so they can understand what comes after the net?" "I've tried, it works for a few but most not so much. The best I can do is keep feeding them this krill mix I make to get their appetites going for the next phase of their lives." He picked up his net and cast it into the pond. As he drew it back out, I saw a few fish flick and twist around inside. He quickly put them in the bucket and we walked them down to the sandy shore on the other side. He waded out into the surf until he was knee deep and dumped the few fish into the water. He turned back to me and grinned. "Watch this." It started with a few small splashes here and there, but in a few moments, I saw hundreds of fish jumping out of the waves. A moment more, and it looked like the entire ocean had come to life. Fish of all sizes and types were leaping into the air, as if a great dance had begun. I saw whales and dolphins join in, gleefully singing and splashing. Jellyfish lit up the dark sea with their bioluminescent glow. I had no words, the old man laughed and beamed as he watched the show. As quickly as the spectacle began, it faded away. I took the bucket for the man and we went back to his spot. I glanced at my watch and realized I needed to return home. "I can't thank you enough for that, will you be here tomorrow?" "You can count on that," he said with a wink. "Make sure you bring a thicker coat if you come back, there's a cold front blowing through.