Ever since I attended my elder sister’s orientation at the University of Richmond, one fact about the lake has stuck in my mind. Not the Gazebo Kiss Myth, or where exactly Little Westham Creek flows into the lake. No, what I will never forget from that long week spent in lecture halls with my parents is a very special quote. A long time ago, some important dignitary or other visited the university and was shown around the lake, the jewel of the campus. He pronounced it “a malarial duck-pond”. At the time, I chuckled at how true it seemed, but when I myself began attending Richmond, I found myself a little offended that someone could say such a thing about our beloved, if murky, lake.
However, on our class’s walk around the lake, that quote seemed to ring truer than ever. As a result of the summer drainage, as well as recent rain, the lake was covered in a mulch-filled scum, accented by small logs bobbing on the surface. Humidity pressed down on us, bringing to mind the large mosquito population such a body of water would produce. In short, I was shocked. My experience with water has been mainly limited to rivers, which swiftly sweep away imperfections, and cow ponds, where livestock laze, chew cud, and pollute their surroundings. The lake looked much like the latter.
Much of the lake’s current condition can be attributed to the vast numbers of impervious surfaces in its watershed. From suburban streets to the vast wasteland of X-Lot, rainwater has very little chance to sink into the earth before flowing into the lake, carrying with it anything and everything in its path. Much of the scum was likely made up of mulch from the preparatory gardening done before the influx of students, leading me to wonder if perhaps less mulch would have been wise. My father, a landscape architect and an avid gardener, has often informed me that the mountains of mulch and fertilizer seen on many a manicured garden patch are unnecessary and will run-off quickly come rain. Better management of the gardening practices on campus, as well as a general awareness of where our waste goes could go a long way towards disproving the anonymous visitor who made such an impact on how I view the lake.
I found it quite funny that the administration at Richmond would even admit to the lake being previously called a “malarial duck-pond,” let alone admit such a thing at orientation, but the statement does ring true. I could not agree with you more in the sentiment that due to the draining this past summer, the lake is definitely not looking quite as aesthetically pleasing as I remember it being last year. Living in Atlantic House, I have spent more time walking around and past that lake in the three weeks we have been on campus than I did in two semesters last year. I have watched it change on a daily basis as sediments begin to resettle, and I’ve seen the power boat out early in the morning on my way to Gottwald as workers attempt to break up and help disperse the floating debris. The lake that I once found so tranquil and beautiful upon my visits senior year most days makes me cringe with a single glance.
I really like how you tied in the current day vision of the lake with solutions and a hope for the future. It was a nice way to wrap up the entry with a little bit of incentive to clean up the lake simply by making more environmentally friendly landscaping decisions. I also liked how you tied in the bit from class about run-off and impervious surfaces. Your entry was a bit different than the typical “the lake is so beautiful” sentiment, but I really liked it for that very reason.
When I wrote this, I don’t think I realized just how out of the ordinary Westhampton Lake feels to me. As I said, I’m used to rivers and the occasional swamp, but on the whole I interact with water that MOVES. This really hit home when we went out onto the James this weekend; I felt completely at home, feeling the current against my paddle felt incredibly reassuring in comparison to the stillness I always sensed when walking around the lake. I love the lake in all its peaceful murkiness, but it is a completely new experience to live near such a still piece of water. From the Potomac to the Robinson and the Rapidan, stillness is not my immediate thought when it comes to water. So I’m still learning to live with the lake, in a similar way that we all are learning how to protect it.