Rest upon Her Vernal Pond- for the funeral of Sandra Greenwald 1953-2022

 Rest upon Her Vernal Pond 4/29/22

Dear Grandchildren of Sandra, 

Ever since Grandma Sandy and Grandpa Denny 

built that house on a Vandecar hill before you were born, 

She always adored the wetland area below the house.

Each Spring, it so reliably filled with 

Discontented snow’s meltwater

And rain runoff,

croaking peeping frogs, 

languid mallards, 

powder blue birds,

climbing wood ducks,

bickering geese,

A lording screech owl, 

And that vernal pond’s pledge for a glorious summer.

Some might say, “Who could love a swamp?”

But, Sandy certainly did.

She built a dock across it over time-

For there she found serenity in regularly

Quieting her mind and body

Long enough to get right down to water level 

To get the best of countless photos  

Of leopard frogs and warty toads 

Spying just above the duckweed.

It was in that calm that she breathed 

Nature’s life-giving and healing gifts 

so deeply to capture jerky jays

And impossibly clear moon shots

And snaps of pileated woodpeckers

Cracking up at their own jokes.

Springtime is the most delightful. 

Because that’s when new life shows up

To Grandma Sandy’s swamp-

New life brought by nature and by 

Neighbors and dear sons-in-law 

And dearest daughters.

They brought new life that 

Toddled down that hill to the dock

In sprouting wildflowers 

and bright Easter dresses

Or firetruck jumpers

And dabbled its sticky, tenuous fingers

And pudgy, stubby toes

And giggles and “Look gramma! Tadpoles!”

And all the motion and happiness and innocence and wonder

Inherent in budding plants and budding youth.

It became your place that Grandma Sandy shared with you.

Life’s Winter of frosty illness and subzero uncertainty 

Can leave earth and body and spirit 

so chilled and so raw and so bereft.  

But, as with every Spring, 

Nature renews the swamp into a teeming pond-

Just as beaming, busy and growing grandchildren renew joy

And a satisfying and lasting warmth to the spirit. 

This year, Sandy didn’t go down to the swamp.

But, she sat right above and right by-

Silently taking in all the sweet scents and sweet sounds

Of new life that made its way up to her instead.

This year, the swamp and the yard and the house  

Were filled with the energies and music she always so loved.

Spring’s new life will rise up with

The promise of new plants, baby birds, maturing families,

And successful grandchildren 

Now and for so many seasons to come.

This year, she heard and she watched 

As your delight carried on when she could no longer. 

And, in again inhaling the air bursting from all your germinating life, 

Grandma Sandy found rest;

As we can be certain she always knew peace there 

In you, grandchildren, upon your vernal pond.