OWEN'S POND

OWEN'S POND
By: Darrelyn L. Tutt

We're on the move in our little Red Flyer;
I'm the puller,
Owen's the rider,
And a new adventure has begun with my beautiful little grandson.
We're headed toward pasture ground to the south, now void of cattle, and playing host to a little dug-out I've coined "the pond."
Our adventure takes us through a cattle-less pasture where there are weeds to tread and thread through, rocks to navigate, and beasts to battle.
We've come prepared:
A large bottle of cold water, enough salted almonds to feed an army, and two chosen sticks with green-twined identifying markers secured around them accompany us (possible weapon instruments.)
The ground is rougher, bumpier, and more buggerish than anticipated;
The weeds are a formidable foe and the day is one of high humidity;
 I'm getting a workout.
The reader must know that I have a new respect for the Red Flyer's toughness.
The last stretch of "buggerish" terrain finds my grandson riding on the two back wheels with the front wheels entirely in the air treading the current of impossible weeds before us.
There's not even time to eat an almond under these conditions.
 I will attest that the Red Flyer is build "Ford tough" and extremely durable for adverse conditions.
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Based on Owen's sincere wagon clutch, I think we're both relieved to reach the barren mound of dirt which stretches like a gray rubberband around the pond.
The welcome committee which is waiting for us is entirely worth the effort and energy put forth:
Five surprised pheasants charge up from the grass in wonder, a prelude to the presentation still to come:
 A mama duck with a troop of 16 ducklings treading across the lake with her little troop in tow emerges.
Owen is absolutely delighted as am I.
We gaze and watch in wonder the happy little Duck family.
It's a most splendid sight that couldn't be better ... until a humorous little scene plays out before us like it had been rehearsed and staged entirely for the two of us before we arrived:
A grown-up duck lands ahead of the mama and her troop, and whether or not it's a protective male or some other duck aware of our presence working to distract us, I'm unsure. I only know that the duck dives directly in front of her and the troop and does a crazy skimming, paddling maneuvering technique all the way across "the pond."
He looks exactly like Owen's wind-up yellow Easter chick except that he possesses unrelenting, endless battery power and he's surged with an unbelievable and most dramatic force.
Owen laughs and gets a big charge out of our dynamic, energetic duck.
We both clap, munch on salted almonds interspersed with sips of cold water, and enjoy life at the pond, and we hold hands ... and I never want the moment to end.
Mama Duck surrounds her unit of sixteen protectively, surveys us, and leaves off appropriately.
The memory is sweet, good, beautiful, and unforgettable.
It's ours.
And we rename the pond "Owen's Pond."
More memories will be had here;
I've not a doubt.
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Life's most beautiful moments are charged with energizing possibilities:
In them and by them we are reminded that we never know when five pheasants may fly up, when a mama Duck will showcase her troop of sixteen, when a daring duck will perform a delightful show, and where a little Red Flyer might take us.
Adventures abound when we move and live;
When we survey and experience places we've never been,

And when we enjoy the moments that are beautifully and purely employed.
For a little Red Flyer and a boy named Owen;
I give God praise.
Tomorrow's adventure will be an introduction to "Wally."
Stay tuned.
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"Finally brethren, whatsoever things are true, whatsoever things are honest, whatsoever things are just, whatsoever things are pure, whatsoever things are lovely, whatsoever things are of good report; if there be any virtue, and if there be any praise, think on these things."
Philippians 4:8