Frank was a real Renaissance man. He was a writer, an artist and musician. He adored nature and animals, sometimes even more than people. Don’t get me wrong- Frank was a sociable guy. But like many a tortured artistic soul, he was happiest in solitude. He never married and only tolerated children when he had to, such as nieces and nephews, and that was limited to holidays. He was perfectly content staying at home, sitting beside his backyard pond, reading the newspaper, listening to the peaceful sound of bullfrogs all around him.
His most cherished moments were spent communing with nature: walking in the woods behind his house, eyes closed in his favorite rocker on his back-porch, captivated by the sounds of the night – the neighborhood hooting owl, the chirping crickets and the cawing crows.
Thunderstorms were always special to Frank, in an odd, macabre sort of way. He loved the smell of rain, the way the entire sky flashed, the rumble in the distance inching closer, the powerful, loud burst of wind and rain blowing sheets of pelting drops on the trees, and the clean scent of a squeaky-clean world after the storm passed.
Frank was fond of most reptiles and amphibians, but especially frogs. The sound of a croaking frog in his pond always soothed his soul. He waited every summer for the local tree frogs to travel from the woods to his pond. To Frank, summer wasn’t summer without frogs in his pond. Forget the flickering lightning bugs and a festive Fourth of July; forget noisy fireworks and juicy watermelon; forget good, old baseball and patriotic parades.
To Frank, Frogs meant summertime.
I got to know Frank pretty well after I married his sister Janet. I respected his vast knowledge of nature and admired his passion for animals. I think he liked me because I liked him.
One summer day Frank stopped by to help us replant our beautiful azalea bushes which were damaged by a vicious thunderstorm. He was sitting in our living room next to the front screen door, relaxing in a rocking chair, cooling off with a glass of iced tea after his extraordinary landscape rescue.
“I believe that everything that dies will come to life again,” he said in classic Frank philosophical mode, gently petting our dog Katie, who was curled up on his lap. “Your azalea bushes should be fine for next spring.”
Without warning he snapped his fingers and blurted out “What you need is a pond!”
Janet loved the idea. I did too but I was worried. The front yard was spacious but not huge. I had cultivated the lawn, getting rid of the crabgrass. The front lawn was a beautiful masterpiece to behold now. I tried to picture a sparkling pond on the lawn but all I kept thinking about was that first shovel of grass and dirt ruining all my hard work.
In the end, with gentle prodding, I reluctantly agreed.
That first shovel in the lawn was like a dagger through my heart. The empty hole left an empty feeling in my soul. With all the rain we had had it was easy, like a spoon dipping into chocolate pudding. By the end of the day the digging was done, and we were ready for phase two of the project.
Frank was a professional when it came to creating ponds and rock gardens. He had constructed or supervised in the building of several ponds in his lifetime. I trusted that the randomly scattered tools, soil and tarp would soon be replaced by the pond of our dreams.
Frank was very careful, placing each stone and each river jack rock. He ventured to a local quarry to select each stone personally. Like a giant jigsaw puzzle, he arranged and rearranged each stone until the rock garden was perfect. Watching Frank work was like watching Michaelangelo in his prime (or so I imagined).
Then came the moment of truth- trying out the pond for the first time. That initial gush of water was like waiting for Old Faithful to erupt. Bubbling, clear water cascaded playfully down the waterfall of rocks.
Frank picked out the appropriate summer flowers to ring around the circular pond- an assortment of colorful marigolds, planted in a bright mixture of yellow and orange. He sprinkled in a few brown-eyed Susan’s, several pink and purple petunias, and various shades of red snapdragons.
The final piece was the beautiful, two-foot-tall St. Francis statue standing at the high end of the pond. Frank was always partial to St. Francis of Assisi; not only was he named after the saint, but St. Francis was also the patron saint of animals, a subject near and dear to Frank’s heart.
People walked by and stopped to admire the pond. Total strangers and familiar neighbors left compliments. Cars drove slowly by our place, admiring the beauty. The pond blended in beautifully with the rest of the yard.
Frank sure knew what he was doing. My tune had changed. I loved the pond and couldn’t imagine the yard without it. I spent much of my time now on the front porch, listening to the pond while reading or nodding off in the evening.
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The wildlife loved the pond. No matter the time of day, we would always find a beautiful creature drinking or bathing in the water. The birds, squirrels and rabbits soon found the pond. For the rest of that first summer, our grounds were crawling with creatures and we couldn’t have been happier.
How ironic that, as the pond area went brown and lifeless for the winter, Frank died very unexpectedly after the new year. No one knew he had terminal cancer. He never let on. But that was Frank -very private, right to the end.
“Damn Frank!” wept Janet. “You were my brother. Why didn’t you at least tell me? I never had a chance to say goodbye.”
All the time that Frank had been working on our pond he had been sick. Our pond would be the last one he would ever build. The pond would serve as an everlasting monument to Frank. We dedicated the pond in his honor, determined that his spirit would live on through the flowing waters.
I always loved spring – a time for renewal and hope. Soon the daffodils, lilacs and forsythia were blooming, and by Easter the dogwood trees blossomed, and our world went from a gloomy, dingy brown to spring greens and vibrant colors.
I was planting spring flowers around the pond- yellow and orange marigolds as Frank had suggested -when I noticed a tadpole sunning himself on one of the stones, its head barely peeking out from underneath the water. It stared at me as I stared at it. Who would blink first?
“We have a guest,” I informed Janet. “A frog is living in our pond.”
“How sweet!” she remarked. “Frank would be pleased. He always loved frogs.”
Later that morning Janet stepped out the front door for her daily walk and found a garter snake near the pond. She was never a big fan of reptiles to begin with, but when she noticed the snake trying to swallow a frog- OUR frog- she grabbed a nearby garden hoe and gave the snake a good whack. It proceeded to spit out our frog, slithering into the bushes while our rescued little buddy hopped into the pond with a splash.
“Let that be a lesson to you!” Janet scolded the snake.
Then the strangest thing happened. Janet noticed it first. One lovely day, she was looking out the screen door, sipping her morning coffee, when she saw a robin with a broken wing hobble to the edge of the rocks, leaping into the pond. The bird bathed and splashed carefree. Then, remarkably, the robin flew away, its wing healed.
That was just the beginning. More animals arrived at the pond, bathing, shaking themselves dry on the rocks. An alley cat with a limp dipped its paw in the water, limping no more; a rabbit with a severe scratch on the ear immersed itself and was made whole again; a furry squirrel with an injured tail splashed and played, finally pain-free.
All were instantly and completely healed after bathing in the water.
We began to take notice as more and more creatures lined up for their turn in the pond. It was like the animals had told their friends, who then told their friends. Birds flew in from all directions. We watched them, amazed as all of them left without affliction.
It wasn’t unusual for neighbors to walk their dogs early in the morning or in the cool of the evening. One day our neighbor Elaine was walking her German Shepherd named Bo. Like never before, Bo had acquired a desire to check out the pond.
Watching the large dog dive into the smallish pond, dousing himself amongst the pond plants and river jack, was comical. Bo dipped his great brown head under the water as he stood knee-deep in the pond.
Later in the day, Elaine, always a bubbly, friendly woman, knocked on our screen door. She had taken Bo to the vet for a routine check-up. One of the concerns with Bo was a cataract in his right eye. But when Bo’s doctor checked the status of his right eye the cataract was gone.
Elaine was the first one to make the connection between the pond and Bo’s healing. “It had to be your pond,” she reasoned. “Thank the Lord!”
I was happy for Bo but I asked if we could keep this good news to ourselves. I just didn’t want news to get out and suddenly our front yard would become an animal shrine, a wildlife version of Lourdes.
She agreed. But then Janet got a call from another neighbor around the block. She had a parrot with a cracked beak. Could she bring Polly to the pond?
There were no prayers, no burning candles, no processions. The neighbor simply asked Polly to sit on her finger while she knelt beside the pond and splashed a handful of water on the bird.
Miraculously the beak was healed before our eyes.
The owner screamed with joy, wailing “Polly, oh Polly!” while thanking us.
********
Janet and I conferred at the kitchen table. We weren’t going to promote the fact that we had a healing pond in front of our house. But we weren’t going to deny it either[RW5] . This magical water could help so many sick creatures. We were animal lovers too. We could relate to the heartbreak, the financial strain and the stress whenever Katie was ill. The thought of a sick furry friend bathing in our pond and being cured of its ailment was mysterious, mystical and marvelous.
I wondered if St. Francis was somehow involved. Was his spirit blessing our pond? We were blessed to have this phenomenon occur in front of our house and I had to admit that these supernatural events renewed my faith in the Almighty.
It was always fun to see how Freddie the frog reacted to visitors using his pond. “Freddie” is what we named the frog who visited the pond every summer (We tended to name all of our creatures on the property. Al was the neighborhood owl and Stinky was the skunk who visited our backyard every night). Usually, he could be found sunning on the stones or swimming underneath the surface of the water.
A new summertime activity played out before my eyes: sitting on the front porch in a lawn chair, a glass of iced tea nearby, listening to the ballgame on the radio while watching the wildlife take turns in our pond. The frequent miracles never became boring to witness but perhaps the most impressive was the unexpected arrival of a bald eagle, majestically swooping gracefully beside the pond. Out of respect, all of the other creatures waiting close by stepped aside as the regal bird splashed in the pond for a few moments, basking in the sun, then drying on the rocks before taking off, gliding and soaring high into the sapphire sky until flying out of sight.
*******
Word got around our small town about our miracle pond and one morning the local newspaper came out to do a story and take a few pictures. Our pond was even featured in the Philadelphia newspapers. We knew that we hit the big time when television cameras started filming the front yard. Our place had become a must-see tourist destination.
After that our grounds became the place -to-be for animals and their owners. Soon the local wildlife, who had innocently discovered the miracle properties of our pond, lost their quiet privileges and were being rudely phased-out of their daily baths.
It seemed as if every sick or injured animal and its owner living in the Philadelphia area had descended on our street. Traffic increased. Parking places became scarce. And the uptick in noise and commotion in our previously calm neighborhood caused chaos on our residential street. We started scheduling appointments, that’s how crazy it became. But, despite the circus atmosphere, the animals continued to be healed, no matter the affliction, the ailment, or the condition.
Unfortunate families began bringing their sick children to our pond. It broke our hearts, especially when they were not cured. Only the animals were cured.
It wasn’t long before geologists, chemists, and veterinarians stopped by to test the water, the rocks, the earth- anything that could’ve attributed to the miracles- without supernatural intervention. Despite all the calculations and examinations, they could find nothing scientifically unusual happening on our property.
The only explanation remaining was God.
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The days melted away and soon it was October 4th, which happened to be the Feast Day of St. Francis of Assisi. It was on this day of all days that our miracle pond dried up. Well, not literally- the water still flowed for another month before the upcoming winter- but after early October, despite the pond brimming with fresh water, no animal was cured. The miracles abruptly ended.
The geese started flying south, and many of our neighborhood birds had already started their journey to warmer climates. Other creatures began hibernating. The flowers dried up, even the fall mums eventually died. It was sad to see the pond so brown and lifeless now.
Christmas came and went. We got our usual amount of snow that winter, which was great for the lawn. We wondered if the miracles would resume when we opened the pond at the first sign of warm Spring. Meanwhile, we continued to schedule appointments, months ahead of time.
“Tell Whiskers to hang in there,” Janet advised one woman on the phone. “Help is on the way.”
Spring arrived late that season, and our pond didn’t re-open until Easter Sunday, April 20th. Our crocuses were out, as were our tulips and daisies. The clean air was scented with green grass and soft breezes. The pond opened but the miracles did not resume. The healthy neighborhood birds, squirrels and rabbits still visited every day, taking their daily baths. But the sick wildlife left without a miracle. Sadly, no one could explain what happened to the miraculous waters.
The phone calls soon dwindled. We advised that the miracles were gone for now, perhaps forever. In one way, it was nice to be back to normal once again. In another way, we took the miracles for granted and missed seeing the joy of an unexpected healing on both furry friend and loved one.
Once the weather got a bit warmer and the humidity returned, our little friend Freddy reappeared in the pond, making the trek from the nearby ravine, as did the rest of the animals who were hibernating over the previous winter (including Stinky the skunk). I was fixing a leak in the waterfall when I noticed him. I swear he seemed to know me because when I spied him peering over the rim of a rock I greeted him with a hearty, “Happy Spring, Freddy!” and he responded with a resounding “croak!”
Unbeknownst to Freddie and the other pond dwellers, we had made the decision to keep the pond open year-round. The winter birds, the squirrels and other wildlife that did not hibernate missed the water. We decided to install a heater to protect our blessed water from freezing over the long winter. Now Freddie would be able to hibernate in the muddy bottom of the pond, rather than make the long journey to the ravine every year.
********
It was in early June of that year when our Katie got sick. Medication wasn’t working for her unshakable stomach bug and she started to lose weight. It was then we took back to the vet for more extensive tests. That’s when they gave us the bad news- they diagnosed her with a very rare canine cancer, for which there was no cure.
We brought Katie home to die.
I filled a small bottle with our pond water and encouraged Katie to drink it. Then I rubbed a little on her belly. Funny how I was so used to miracles happening. Supernatural events had been so commonplace before. Now, when she remained so deathly ill, when we prayed for a miracle and nothing happened, I began to lose my faith a little.
Our pond had helped so many poor animals over the years. Why wouldn’t the miraculous water heal our Katie? It didn’t seem fair that our little dog should suffer and die when our pond was an instrument for so many miracles in the past.
It was Janet who figured it out that very night. It wasn’t the water after all!
The twinkling stars were quietly fading with the increasingly overcast midnight sky. A rumble of thunder in the distance indicated a typical spring thunderstorm was on its way. A gusty breeze kicked up in intensity as flashes of lightning lit up the ominous sky.
Janet had been holding Katie on her lap all evening. I would kneel beside them, offering gentle support to both, soft stroking Katie’s cream fur and telling her that we were with her. The vet said it could be anytime.
That’s when Janet jumped out of the rocking chair, tenderly cuddling Katie in her arms and walked her outside.
“Hun, what are you doing?” I asked. “It’s ready to rain.”
I followed, unsure what was happening
Janet knelt beside the pond and dunked our little dog into the water. Immediately, Katie shivered, reacting to the chilly water. Then she squirmed with life, licking Janet on the cheek and snuggling her neck.
Katie was back!
A cloudburst soaked us with cooling rain as Janet, with tears flowing down her face, cried out joyously, “Thank you, FRANK!”
Her gratitude was acknowledged by one simple “croak” from somewhere in the pond. And in that instant Frank’s words of prophecy warmed my heart:
” Everything that dies will come to life again.”
Gregory Smith is a retired medical social worker. He is the author of 38 short stories, 26 of which have been or will be published. His uplifting memoir, titled Stronger Than Bone, was just published by Compassiviste Publishing. Greg is active on social media, including Facebook, X, Blue Sky, Instagram and TikTok. He enjoys reading, watching sports and classic movies and listening to oldies music in his free time.
