Lifestyle
How to create a DIY water feature for a habitat garden without breaking the bank
These days, habitat gardens are all the rage among eco-conscious Californians. They add native plants to their yards, patios or even balconies to provide food and shelter for wildlife.
But here’s the bitter truth: It’s not a real habitat garden if it doesn’t have a water source, as in a place where bees and butterflies can reliably sip without drowning or where birds can splash and preen.
In L.A., water rules everything around us. Drink up, cool off and dive into our stories about hydrating and recreating in the city.
I have been pining for a water feature for years, but I’ve always been too intimidated to proceed. Store-bought fountains are pricy and their setup seems daunting. And while I’ve long lusted over hand-built fountains and elaborate ponds, I’m a klutz when it comes to building things from scratch.
All I wanted was a simple recirculating fountain near my bedroom window, so I could fall asleep to the soothing sounds of gurgling water. But the fear of failure always stopped me until I talked to people who have created their own water features and learned a few crucial tips:
- You don’t need a dedicated water line or even electricity and a pump to create a simple water feature. All you need is a big, watertight pot, wider than deep, a few water plants and a handful of little fish to keep mosquitoes at bay.
- Anyone with time, muscle and access to YouTube (or the library) can build a small pond or simple water feature, but there will be some labor and unavoidable expenses, so try to have all your materials assembled before you engage — unless you like interrupting your project to dash to the store.
- Proceed boldly, but prepare yourself mentally, because something always goes wrong, said Chris Elwell, co-owner (with his husband, Kory Odell) of the fabled Casa Apocalyptica, an arresting landscape of salvaged rubble, water features and native plants around their home in Mid-Wilshire.
“Just know you’re going to make a lot of mistakes,” said Odell, a civil engineer who built an 8-by-12-foot in-ground pond for their front yard. “You’ll screw it up, and then you’re going to fix it, and that’s how you’re going to learn.”
DIY water features instructor Andrew Chaves has created water gardens in recycled plant pots in his Long Beach yard.
(Jeanette Marantos / Los Angeles Times)
Stand-alones are simplest
Experimentation and patience are the most important tools for creating your own water feature, said DIY water features instructor Andrew Chaves, director of operations at Rancho Los Alamitos Historic Ranch and Gardens in Long Beach. He’s offering a class called Water Gardening in Small Spaces at the rancho on Aug. 4, and expects to teach another this fall at his former place of employment, the Theodore Payne Foundation.
Chaves doesn’t object to fountains with pumps, but he prefers the simplicity of still water features so he doesn’t have to worry about power cords or special water lines.
Andrew Chaves’ water garden, in a 24-inch-tall sealed clay pot, is a simple, serene way to bring water to a habitat garden.
(Jeanette Marantos / Los Angeles Times)
He creates “water gardens” in large, watertight pots with (mostly) native water plants that give insects and other tiny drinkers a safe place to perch on floating plants like duckweed (Lemna minor), mosquito fern (Azolla filiculoides) and miniature water lilies, which also shade the water and keep it cool. He keeps mosquitoes away with a dozen or so tiny fish that devour their larvae.
Chaves and his wife, Amanda, also dug out a roughly 4-foot-by-6-foot hole for a preformed plastic pond that a colleague gave them when he couldn’t use it. Fitting the pond into the ground was a difficult project, they said, because the hole had to align with the inflexible contours of the pond and sit flush against the ground. If he did it again, he said, he probably would use a heavy-duty pond liner instead, because it would be easier to press the liner into the hole and disguise the edges with rocks and plants.
Covering the edges of a pond is always a challenge, said Elwell, even if you use a pond liner, because it’s hard to make it look natural. People buy decorative rocks or materials that look pretty in the store “but end up looking hokey around the pond because you don’t see those materials anywhere else in the yard,” he said. “You’re better off using something from your yard, even if it’s ugly, because it looks like it belongs.”
Kory Odell built this small pond with help from his husband, Chris Elwell, in their Mid-Wilshire yard to create a habitat of native plants, water features and salvaged rubble dubbed Casa Apocalyptica.
(Christina House / Los Angeles Times)
At night, their ponds are alive with frog song, and they do whatever they can to nurture their croakers. That’s why Elwell, Odell and Chaves don’t keep fish in their ponds; they don’t want hungry fish to gobble up frog eggs or tiny tadpoles.
Elwell and Odell have a recirculating waterfall in their pond that provides enough movement to deter mosquitoes. Chaves uses mosquito dunks, beige, doughnut-shaped floats that kill mosquito larvae but are nontoxic to other creatures.
In his small water gardens, however, Chaves prefers to use Japanese rice fish, which come in several colors, grow about an inch long and tend to leave beneficial insects alone, unlike mosquito fish, which eat almost anything in their path, he said. Tiny snails and shrimp known as daphnia eat algae and provide additional food for the fish.
A rusty repurposed industrial-sized spigot spills recirculating water into a small waterfall and pond at Casa Apocalyptica.
(Christina House / Los Angeles Times)
He has several other tips:
- The best pots are wider than they are deep to give plants more surface space, but the best depth is 18 inches, to give the fish room to dive into cooler waters and hide. If you want to use deeper pots, you’ll need a brick or shelf at the bottom so plants that like their roots submerged, like water lilies, can still reach the surface.
- Unglazed pots like terracotta should be sealed on the inside with a rubber-based paint like Flex Seal, which the company says is safe around plants and animals once it’s fully cured (after at least 24 hours). The sealant is expensive — about $35 a quart — but Chaves has covered three large clay pots with that amount. He uses Gorilla epoxy stick putty to fill the container holes.
- Some water plants like to have their roots totally submerged, but you can’t grow them in ordinary potting soil, which will just float away. Some people use special potting soils for pond plants or pea gravel, but Chaves prefers a fragrance-free clay kitty litter, which is less expensive and heavy enough to stay in place in the water.
- Water should be dechlorinated before you add fish, by using special tablets or letting the water sit in an open bucket for at least 24 hours so the chlorine can dissipate. Chaves also recommends adding the plants and snails a week or two before adding a few fish, to build up a culture of bacteria that can consume the poop the fish will produce. Otherwise the fish could die from ammonia poisoning.
Jesse Chang’s oval tub pond stands about 18 inches above the ground in his Monterey Park yard, surrounded by tall, California-native water plants to attract pollinators.
(Jesse Chang)
Ponds can be above ground
Jesse Chang, executive director of Catalyst San Gabriel Valley, is another fan of experimentation, along with heavy research. He credits “The Tub Pond Handbook” by Ted Coletti and the “California Native Water Plants and Life” Facebook group with helping him maintain the 85-gallon aboveground “tub pond” he installed outside his Monterey Park home.
Chang bought his roughly 3-by-4-foot oval tub secondhand for under $100 (a similar tub costs $133 new on DK Hardware) at the handbook’s recommendation because he wanted to discourage raccoons. Those animals can be pretty destructive, moving around rocks and plants in search of food — both Chaves and Casa Apocalyptica have had to contend with prying paws — but it’s harder for them to mess with a pond that stands 18 inches above the ground, Chang said.
Instead of lining his pond with rocks, he’s surrounded the tub with water-loving potted plants like monkey flowers and rushes to draw in pollinators and soften the hard edges.
He’s using plain old minnows in his pond for now to deter mosquitoes because he was worried that dragonfly larvae would eat his tiny fish. Minnows are much less expensive than rice fish — “about 20 cents versus $4” — so he started with minnows in case his investment got eaten. He’s lost a few, but most are looking healthier than the ones in the store.
Taking the plunge
These water gardens were lovely and relatively simple, but I still wanted the soothing sound of burbling water.
So summoning up my courage, I followed Elwell’s advice and began scouring YouTube for easy DIY fountains. That’s how I found a cheerful tutorial by permaculture landscape designer Daryl Lindsey of Yardfarmer in Salt Lake City with a title right up my alley: “Make This EASY, FAST, DIY Water Feature for Local Wildlife!”
Astonishingly, I did, although it wasn’t as easy or fast as I had hoped. It took me most of a weekend, multiple trips for things I forgot and a hard lesson in pump mechanics, but by Sunday evening, my little turquoise fountain was ready to turn on.
Following Lindsey’s advice, I rummaged through my collection of containers and found a large ceramic pot without a drain hole to use as my reservoir — saving myself at least $50 to $100 — and purchased the following:
- A submersible recirculating pump with 6.5 feet of half-inch tubing and several connectors ($30 from Amazon).
- A tall black pot to fit upside down in my reservoir, to cover the pump and give my water feature some extra height ($20 on sale at Lowe’s).
- Three black bricks to give the internal pot even more height (about $4 at Lowe’s).
- Three glazed plant saucers to stack above the black pot and hold pretty rocks I’ve been collecting for years. Deciding what to use took most of the day. ($47 from Green Thumb Ventura).
- A half-inch titanium drill bit to drill holes in my saucers ($15 at Lowe’s).
- A tube of silicone adhesive and a couple of half-inch clamps to make sure the hose stayed attached ($8 and $5, respectively, at Lowe’s).
The total? About $130, plus a day of wandering around garden centers fretting about what saucers and pots to choose and how to stack them.
The hardest part was drilling holes in the middle of the glazed saucers. You must drill slowly to avoid cracking or chipping the ceramic plates and spray the surface frequently with water so it doesn’t get too hot.
When the holes were drilled and the fountain was assembled, it weighed a ton, even without water. (Pro tip: Do your assembling where you plan to keep the fountain, or be sure you have a dolly or Hercules to move it.)
Finally, with the reservoir filled with water, I plugged in the pump and stood over my creation with bated breath. I expected to see a gently gurgling fountain. I had purchased a submersible recirculating water pump that moves 880 gallons per hour — I reasoned that bigger was better, right?
Wrong. After a few seconds I was hit full force by an 8-foot-tall geyser, and there wasn’t any lever on the pump that reduced the force. In desperation I piled some bigger rocks on top of the spout, which forced the water into submission. I’m hoping the rocks will keep Old Faithful under control until I can purchase a pump that only moves about 100 gallons per hour.
At long last, however, I went to sleep listening to the soothing babble of running water outside my bedroom window. And I dreamed about using that 880-gallon-per-hour pump to create a little waterfall and pond in my front yard.
Thirty years ago, comedian and actor Tig Notaro didn’t have a clear direction in life, so she followed some childhood friends who wanted to get into entertainment to Los Angeles. Secretly wanting to do stand-up, Notaro decided to try her luck at various outlets in town, which became the start of her successful career.
“I stayed on my friends’ couch near the Hollywood Improv on Melrose, and a couple months later, got my own studio apartment in the Miracle Mile area,” Notaro says. “I love all the options for everything in L.A. — the entertainment, the restaurants. I like to stay active. So many people love the hiking options in Los Angeles, and I’m one of them.”
In Sunday Funday, L.A. people give us a play-by-play of their ideal Sunday around town. Find ideas and inspiration on where to go, what to eat and how to enjoy life on the weekends.
Notaro appears in Season 3 of Apple TV’s “The Morning Show” and is a series regular on Paramount+’s “Star Trek: Starfleet Academy,” as she was on “Star Trek: Discovery.” She’s also a touring stand-up comic and hosts “Handsome,” a comedy podcast, with Fortune Feimster and Mae Martin. The trio will be taping a live show May 4 at the Wiltern with the cast of Netflix’s “The Hunting Wives.” The live shows include interviews, but also “incorporate some ridiculous things,” she says. For example, upon hearing that some of the hosts always wanted to learn to tap dance, Notaro “hired a tap instructor to come to our live show in Austin and teach us how to tap dance in front of the audience.”
Notaro lives near Hollywood with her wife, actor Stephanie Allynne, their 9-year-old fraternal twin boys, Max and Finn, and three cats, Fluff, Linus and Skip. When she’s not touring, her ideal Sundays include sampling vegan restaurants, wandering through bookstores or museums, and doing something physically active with the family.
This interview has been lightly edited and condensed for length and clarity.
6 a.m.: Up with the kids
Because we have active children, we still wake up at 6 a.m. or 6:30 a.m. on Sunday, but there’s not as much of a rush to get going. Stephanie and I will often have coffee and chat in the living room together. I love that part of the day. Stephanie may cook breakfast, but Max and Finn are pretty self-sufficient and can make certain little meals for themselves. Max is really starting to take an interest in cooking, so he’d make breakfast for himself. Our family is vegan, but he eats eggs, so he makes himself an egg sandwich with avocado a lot of times.
9 a.m.: Daily morning walk
After breakfast, we usually have a morning walk around our neighborhood. That’s a daily thing I like to do, regardless of what’s going on. Now that I’m not touring as much, tennis is back on the schedule. So I’d go to Plummer Park in West Hollywood and play for a while, then join the family for lunch.
11:30 a.m.: Hike with a side of chickpea sandwich
I love Trails, a cafe in Griffith Park, where you can eat outdoors. It serves simple food, and has good vegan options. I usually get their chickpea salad sandwich. The food there is great. Afterward, we’d visit Griffith Observatory, where there’s lots to see. There are lots of great trails in the park, so we’d go for an hour hike before leaving.
3 p.m.: Browse the shelves for rock biographies
Bookstores are fun, so we’d head downtown for the Last Bookstore, which is in a historic building with lots of vintage books. I really love all things plant-based, and I’m a very big music fanatic. So I love to look for vegan books, nutrition books, rock biographies and autobiographies. It’s just fun to browse around the stacks.
If we didn’t go to the bookstore, we’d probably go to LACMA. Our sons are huge fans of art and want to go for each new exhibit. They love Hockney, Basquiat and Picasso, to name a few.
4 p.m.: Cuddle with cuties at a cat cafe
We’d then make a quick stop at [Crumbs & Whiskers], a kitten and cat cafe on Melrose for coffee, snacks and to pet the cats. It’s best to make reservations in advance. There’s cats all around the place that need to be adopted. You can visit and pet them, or find a new roommate. I’d love to take some home, but we already have three.
5:30 p.m. Italian or sushi, but make it vegan
We’re an early dinner family. One restaurant we like is Pura Vita in West Hollywood. It’s the greatest vegan Italian food, and for non-vegans, nobody ever knows the difference. It’s the first 100% plant-based Italian restaurant in the United States. They make an incredible kale salad and I love the San Gennaro pizza. It’s got cashew mozzarella, tomato sauce, Italian sausage crumble and more.
Then there’s Planta in Marina del Rey. It’s right on the harbor and you can sit outside and look at the boats coming in and out. They have sushi, salads and other plant-based entrees. They’ve got a really great spicy tuna roll that’s made out of watermelon. They are magicians.
Or there’s Crossroads Kitchen in West Hollywood. They play the best classic rock, and the atmosphere is upscale, fine dining. The appetizers that we always get are called Moroccan Cigars, which are vegan meat substitutes fried in a rolled batter. I really like the grilled lion’s mane steak, their mushroom steak with truffle potatoes, or the scallopini Milanese, that has a chicken or tofu option. I get the chicken with arugula on top. I always love to have a decaf espresso with dessert, which is either a brownie sundae or banana pudding.
7:30 p.m.: Comfort watch or word games
After dinner, the kids often like to watch an episode of “Friends,” a show that all ages enjoy, sports or “The Simpsons.” Or we’d play a game where each of us will add a word to a sentence and create a weird or funny long sentence until one of our sons says period. Then they’ll try and remember the whole sentence and repeat it back.
9:30 p.m.: Bubble bath then bed
The boys usually go to bed at 8:30 p.m. and bedtime for us is 9:30 p.m. Stephanie and I would read or chat. I like to take a bubble bath, if people must know. The best Sundays for me mean finding a good balance of relaxing and being active. I feel very lucky that my family and I can do those things together.
When Marian Sherry Lurio and Jonathan Buffington Nguyen met at a mutual friend’s wedding at Higgins Lake, Mich., in July 2022, both felt an immediate chemistry. As the evening progressed, they sat on the shore of the lake in Adirondack chairs under the stars, where they had their first kiss before joining others for a midnight plunge.
The two learned that the following weekend Ms. Lurio planned to attend a wedding in Philadelphia, where Mr. Nguyen lives, and before they had even exchanged numbers, they already had a first date on the books.
“I have a vivid memory of after we first met,” Mr. Nguyen said, “just feeling like I really better not screw this up.”
Before long, they were commuting between Philadelphia and New York City, where Ms. Lurio lives, spending weekends and the odd remote work days in one another’s apartments in Philadelphia and Manhattan. Within the first six months of dating, Mr. Nguyen joined Ms. Lurio’s family for Thanksgiving in Villanova, Pa., and, the following month, she met his family in Beavercreek, Ohio, at a surprise birthday party for Mr. Nguyen’s mother.
Ms. Lurio, 32, who grew up in Merion Station outside Philadelphia, works in investor relations administration at Flexpoint Ford, a private equity firm. She graduated from Dartmouth College with a bachelor’s degree in history and psychology.
Mr. Nguyen, also 32, was born in Knoxville, Tenn., and raised in Beavercreek, Ohio, from the age of 7. He graduated from Haverford College with a bachelor’s degree in political science and is now a director at Doyle Real Estate Advisors in Philadelphia.
Their long-distance relationship continued for the next few years. There were dates in Manhattan, vacations and beach trips to the Jersey Shore. They attended sporting events and discovered their shared appreciation of the 2003 film, “Love Actually.”
One evening, Mr. Nguyen recalled looking around Ms. Lurio’s small New York studio — strewed with clothes and the takeout meal they had ordered — and feeling “so comfortable and safe.” “I knew that this was something different than just sort of a fling,” he said.
It was an open question when they would move in together. In 2024, Ms. Lurio began the process of moving into Mr. Nguyen’s home in Philadelphia — even bringing her cat, Scott — but her plans changed midway when an opportunity arose to expand her role with her current employer.
Mr. Nguyen was on board with her decision. “It almost feels like stolen valor to call it ‘long distance,’ because it’s so easy from Philadelphia to New York,” Mr. Nguyen said. “The joke is, it’s easier to get to Philly from New York than to get to some parts of Brooklyn from Manhattan, right?”
In January 2025, Mr. Nguyen visited Ms. Lurio in New York with more up his sleeve than spending the weekend. Together they had discussed marriage and bespoke rings, but when Mr. Nguyen left Ms. Lurio and an unfinished cheese plate at the bar of the Chelsea Hotel that Friday evening, she had no idea what was coming next.
“I remember texting Jonathan,” Ms. Lurio said, bewildered: “‘You didn’t go toward the bathroom!’” When a Lobby Bar server came and asked her to come outside, Ms. Lurio still didn’t realize what was happening until she was standing in the hallway, where Mr. Nguyen stood recreating a key moment from the film “Love Actually,” in which one character silently professes his love for another in writing by flashing a series of cue cards. There, in the storied Chelsea Hotel hallway still festooned with Christmas decorations, Mr. Nguyen shared his last card that said, “Will you marry me?”
They wed on April 11 in front of 200 guests at the Pump House, a covered space on the banks of Philadelphia’s Schuylkill River. Mr. Nguyen’s sister, the Rev. Elizabeth Nguyen, who is ordained through the Unitarian Universalist Association, officiated.
Although formal attire was suggested, Ms. Lurio said that the ceremony was “pretty casual.” She and Jonathan got ready together, and their families served as their wedding parties.
“I said I wanted a five-minute wedding,” Ms. Lurio recalled, though the ceremony ended up lasting a little longer than that. During the ceremony, Ms. Nguyen read a homily and jokingly added that guests should not ask the bride and groom about their living arrangements, which will remain separate for the foreseeable future.
While watching Ms. Lurio walk down the aisle, flanked by her parents, Mr. Nguyen said he remembered feeling at once grounded in the moment and also a sense of dazed joy: “Like, is this real? I felt very lucky in that moment — and also just excited for the party to start!”
He always texted when he was outside. No call, no knock. It was just a message and then the soft sound of my door opening. He moved like someone practiced in disappearing.
His name meant “complete” in Arabic, which is what I felt when we were together.
I met him the way you meet most things that matter in Los Angeles — without intending to. In our senior year at a college in eastern L.A. County, we were introduced through mutual friends, then thrown together by the particular gravity of people who recognized something in each other. He was a Muslim medical student, conservative and careful and funny in the dry, precise way of someone who has always had to choose his words. I was loud where he was quiet, messy where he was disciplined. I was out. He was not.
I understood, or thought I did. I thought that I couldn’t get hurt if I was completely conscious throughout the endeavor. Los Angeles has a way of making you feel like the whole world shares your freedoms — until you realize the city is enormous, and not all of it belongs to you in the same way.
For months, our world was confined to my apartment. He would slip in after dark, and we’d stay up late talking about his family in Iran, classical music and the particular pressure of being the son someone sacrificed everything to bring here. He told me things he said he’d never told anyone, and I believed him.
The orange glow from my Nesso lamp lit his face while the indigo sky pressed against the window behind him. In our small little world, we were safe. Outside was another matter.
On our first real date, I took him to the L.A. Phil’s “An Evening of Film & Music: From Mexico to Hollywood” program. I told him they were cheap seats even though they were the first row on the terrace. He was thrilled in the way only someone who doesn’t expect to be delighted actually gets delighted — fully, without guarding it. I put my arm around his shoulders. At some point, I shifted and moved it, and he nudged it back. He was OK with PDA here.
I remember thinking that wealth is a great barrier to harm and then feeling silly for extrapolating my own experience once again. Inside Walt Disney Concert Hall, we were just two people in love with the same music.
Outside was still another matter.
In February, on Valentine’s Day, he took me to a Yemeni restaurant in Anaheim. We hovered over saffron tea surrounded by other young Southern Californians, and we looked like friends. Before we went in, we sat in the parking lot of the strip mall — signs in Arabic advertising bread, coffee, halal meats, the Little Arabia District — hand in hand. I leaned over to kiss him.
“Not here,” he said. His eyes shifted furtively. “Someone might see.”
I understood, or told myself I did, but I was saddened. Later, after the kind of reflection that only arrives in the wreckage, I would understand something harder: I had been unconsciously asking him to choose, over and over, between the people he loved and the person he loved. I had a long pattern of choosing unavailable men, telling myself it was because I could handle the complexity. The truth was more embarrassing. I thought that if someone like him chose me anyway — chose me over the weight of societal expectations — it would mean I was worth choosing. It took me a long time to see how unfair that was to him and to me.
We went to the Norton Simon Museum together in November, on the kind of gray Pasadena day when the 210 Freeway roars in the background like white noise. He studied for the MCAT while I wrote a paper on Persian rugs. In between practice problems, he translated ancient Arabic scripts for me. I thought, “We make a good team.” Afterward, we walked through the galleries and he didn’t let go of my arm.
That was the version of us I kept returning to — when the ending came during Ramadan. It arrived as a spiritual reflection of my own. I texted: “Does this end at graduation — whatever we are doing?”
He thought I meant Ramadan. I did not mean Ramadan.
“I care about you,” he wrote, “but I don’t want you to think this could work out to anything more than just dating. I mean, of course, I’ve fantasized about marrying you. If I could live my life the way I wanted, of course I would continue. I’m just sad it’s not in this lifetime.”
I was in Mexico City when these texts were exchanged. That night I flew to Oaxaca to clear my head and then, after less than 24 hours, flew back to L.A. No amount of vacation would allow me to process what had just happened, so I threw myself back into work.
My therapist told me to use the conjunction “and” instead of “but.” It happened, and I am changed. The harm I caused and the love I felt. The beauty of what we made and the impossibility of where it could go. She gave me a knowing smile when I asked if it would stay with me forever. She didn’t answer, which was the answer.
I think about the freeways now, the way Joan Didion called them our only secular communion. When you’re on the ground in Los Angeles, the world narrows to the few blocks around you. Get on the freeway and you understand the whole body of the city at once: the arteries, the pulse, the scale of the thing.
You understand that you are a single cell in something enormous and moving. It is all out of your control. I am in a lane. The lane shaped how I drive. He was simply in a different lane, and his lane shaped him, and those two facts can coexist without either of us being the villain of the sad story.
He came like a secret in the night, and he left the same way. What we made in between was real and complicated and mine to hold forever, hoping we find each other in the next life.
The author lives in Los Angeles.
L.A. Affairs chronicles the search for romantic love in all its glorious expressions in the L.A. area, and we want to hear your true story. We pay $400 for a published essay. Email LAAffairs@latimes.com. You can find submission guidelines here. You can find past columns here.
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