The Aquarium

The ocean-access canal in our backyard was brackish at best, a waterway somewhere between the Florida Everglades and the Atlantic Ocean.  We moved to that house in Plantation, a suburb on the edge of the swamp, the same year I entered middle school. The house came with a motor boat parked at the dock behind the house, a screened in pool, orange trees, and a yard that ended abruptly with a sea wall.  (According to my mom the seawall was installed to keep the alligators in their place.)  Right outside my bedroom window was an avocado tree that allowed us to consume guacamole every night for months every year.  

And while we enjoyed the pool, the canal was the real entertainment.  Schools of fish skimmed the brown water.  Manatees drifted by.  A constant parade of mullet jumped out of the water as if for no other reason than to get a better look around. And of course snakes and alligators lurked just below the surface.

One time, at low tide, I saw an alligator that I would swear was as long as our family car. He lazed about on a muddy section that was created from where the neighbor’s yard was seeping back into the canal and had created the perfect sunning spot. I often wondered if he motivated the neighbors to fix the leak in the seawall.  

My sister and I spent hours along the canal with fishnets, buckets on a rope, or long poles with scoops on the end pulling up creatures onto the spikey Florida grass my dad mowed every Sunday.  Most of the mud and seaweed we dumped back into the canal, but often we hauled small shrimp and fish to the aquarium that was center to the patio. 

When everything in the aquarium had grown over with green algae and our mom screamed she would sell the aquarium, we emptied the whole mess back into the canal and  evolved the glass container into a home for lizards.  

Lizards were easy to catch.  And it was good fun to provoke them to open their mouths in defense; then we would either shovel fish food into their mouths (to keep them alive longer) or put them near one of our ears so they could clamp down and become elegant earrings —- they only hung on long enough for us to go find mom, and for her to scream in total disgust.

After we lost all the lizards (probably in the house), we found the prettiest snake: he was black on one side, rainbow on the other and a small orange ring around his neck. We played with him until he died, as did many animals that were sentenced to life in the aquarium.  

We then evolved the aquarium into a saltwater tank, which created excuses for beach adventures. Saltwater proved to be trickier given it needed continuous attention and the fish tended to eat each other: a sort of gladiator game always occurred when we added anything new.

The aquarium survived until we headed off to college: Mom and Dad sold the empty aquarium as part of a garage sale when they sold the house.

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The 57 year old version of myself buzzed down a road in Eastern Arizona on a bicycle. I had climbed 3,000 feet for the day with another 1,000 to go before blasting down the final 2,000 feet back to the car. The route was spectacular with big views of mountain ranges in every direction, bright yellow cottonwoods that were still celebrating fall and continuous fields of green prickly pear cactus.

The wildlife had been a blast. I had already found a huge grasshopper that let me snap close up pictures without moving. And I had enjoyed a school of butterflies that took off when I cycled up to the only flowering bush which was by the river. But the real prize came on that final climb: a tarantula strutting down the gravel road.  

I screamed in total delight when I spotted him.  I jumped off the bike and crawled on the ground next to him, looking for the best camera angles.  

He continued strutting directly down the road but I was prepared to flee if he took one step in my direction.  

After I took several videos, he scurried off into the bushes.  My husband had stayed near the bikes, laughing. I screamed with a shrill, “He was the coolest, I mean did you see him? He was super cool.” 

Back on the bike, I thought of the aquarium.  I could imagine my sister and I trying to wrangle the tarantula into a container.  If he survived the transport, we would spend hours glued to the side of the tank, daring each other to pet him. I can hear my mom in the background, pleading with us to let him go. 

Looking back at the direction of the tarantula, I whispered,”I’m so glad you escaped my little friend.” 

So while I don’t have the tarantula in the aquarium, I do have the videos. And that will entertain me for hours.