Fishy Business: My Backyard Aquaponics Adventure in Edmonton
You know how it goes—mid-January in Edmonton, and you can barely see two feet in front of you because of the snow blowing sideways. Cabin fever had set in hardcore. I found myself scrolling through farm-to-table blogs, drooling over images of vibrant greens and juicy tomatoes. That’s when I stumbled upon aquaponics.
“Why not?” I thought, fueled by a couple of mugs of coffee and a sudden surge of confidence. After all, if a group of college kids could grow fish and plants together in their dorm rooms, surely I could do it in my cozy little backyard.
Digging Into the Plan
My first foray into this colorful world involved a trip to my trusty shed, which was bursting at the seams with junk. I dove in and found an old plastic kiddie pool—I think it used to be blue with cartoon dolphins on it. Why I kept it? Beats me. However, it was deep enough for a few fish and wide enough to make me feel like I was really doing something.
I hitched the pool to an old garden hose that was lying in the grass, and, lo and behold, I had my fish tank. Next up was the grow bed. I lugged out a few wooden pallets that had seen better days and slapped them together. This would hold my plants. Somewhere on the internet—probably under a desperate Google search—I’d read about using gravel for the grow bed. A few trips to the local landscaping store, and I had bags of the stuff nestled in my trunk, along with a tiny pump.
What I Didn’t Account For
I remember the excitement bubbling inside me as I put it all together one frigid weekend. I thought I’d nailed it. The fish tank filled with water and, glory be, the pump actually worked! But wait—a few days later, as I peered into my makeshift aquarium, I could have sworn the water started turning green.
Panic fluttered in my chest. Was it algae? Did I do something wrong? The smell wafting from the tank was an affront to my nostrils; it wasn’t the fresh scent of life I’d envisioned. “I can fix this,” I told myself. So, I threw in a couple of aquatic plants—some water hyacinth I found at the pet store—hoping they’d help tame the wild green.
Then came the moment I will never forget: I chose the fish. I spent a whole evening reading about tilapia and goldfish, ultimately settling on a few hardy goldfish since I didn’t want to drop big bucks on fish that might not survive my novice hands. They were lively and colorful. I named them Greg, Fishy McFishface, and I can’t remember the third—maybe it was Spellbinder?
The Downward Spiral
But things began to spiral. The pump I had bought was like a stubborn toddler—it didn’t want to play nice. I swear, every time I thought I had it working, it would spit out a trickle of water and call it a day. Once, while fiddling with the power cord, I managed to sprinkle water everywhere, soaking my already frostbitten jeans.
As I crouched there, a bit defeated, I glanced at the goldfish. Greg looked a little pale. The poor thing was already stressed out. I pulled up my sleeves, determined to breathe some life back into my aquatic utopia.
I reached for a bucket from the garage, one of those yellow rubber ones my dad used to use for fishing on the river. I filled it with fresh water, adding a splash of dechlorinator because I’d read somewhere that was important.
Off I went, replacing water like I was some kind of fish doctor. Spoiler alert: Greg didn’t make it. I was crushed. That little guy had been a symbol of my aspirations. As I stared at the other two, bobbing peacefully at the surface, I couldn’t help but feel like giving up.
The Bright Side
But then something miraculous happened. Perhaps it was a sign or just stubborn luck, but the remaining Goldfish began to thrive in their new, well-cared-for environment. The grow bed was already sprouting a few herbs I had tossed in there—basil, parsley, and even some spindly green onion shoots. I was amazed. Could this chaotic mess of a project still work?
The next few weeks became a patchwork of efforts: tweaking water pH levels, figuring out when to feed the fish (those guys sure can be ravenous, can’t they?), and battling rogue weeds that sprang up like they owned the place.
Finding Joy in Failures
I’d like to say I’m now an aquaponics expert, but let’s be honest: I’m still learning. Every experience—every broken pump and dead fish—turned into a lesson. I was no longer just a passive observer; I was part of this vibrant cycle of growth and decay.
And the smell? Oh, it still was an assault on my senses—but, at least now, it smelled more of earthy soil and fresh basil than stagnant pond.
The Takeaway
So, here I am, sipping another cup of coffee during another Edmonton winter, and you know what? If you’re thinking about diving into something as bizarre as aquaponics, don’t feel you have to be perfect right out of the gate. Just get started. You learn more from the disaster than from the wins.
If you’re curious and want to make your own aquatic adventure, don’t hesitate—click here to reserve your seat and join the next session on aquaponics. It’ll be fun, frustrating, and like me, you’ll probably walk away with a whole new respect for those little fishy friends and the effort it takes to turn dreams into reality. You’ve got this!
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