Hurricane Nate destroyed one of my loveliest gardens. I processed the grief as normal people would. I had a meltdown. The lovely garden was never restored. Au contraire, a few years later, a tree crashes down and the shop of horrors claims this territory. A vine kingdom raises its flag. My home, cut into the opening in the woods, has lovely gardens all around, all but this, the final frontier.

I stare at the great wall of brush and vines. A great fog of fatigue descends upon me. Weeks go by. Months and alas years go by. I surrender to the tentacles but the story of this garden will not stand down. I almost hear Vonnie and Ada Mae (my mother and grandmother) say, “The story will not fall silent. Tell the story”.

Weed killer. Loppers. Electric (I am a girl) chainsaw. Sweat. Mosquitoes. I question who is to conquer? My grief or the jungle? For the dear reader, here begins the story.

The Bookmobile parks at my elementary school, the hottest of a September day. My classmates stand in a long line, but only to escape the heat for a few moments of air conditioning. All but this one, who delights in a book, I go straight to it. Many days, Vonnie finds her little girl perched high in a tree with the book. “What are you reading?” I reply, “The Secret Garden”. Again, Vonnie thought. Odd little girl, Vonnie thought.

Which one? Her child in the tree or Mary the contrary?

Who knew? The book of a story of a garden, yea more than a garden.

The Secret Garden setting: the moors of England, withering and dreary. Or is it? Early 1900’s

The cast:

Mrs. Craven, the gardener. The moors (as is my final frontier) need one. She dies in childbirth. The great house of Misselthwaite is never the same. Her garden is locked and is overcome by the viney kingdom.

Mr. Craven, the widower: Paralyzed by grief. Yes, 10 years later.

Colin their son: Sickly and feared to have a terminal illness. The life has been bled out of him by grief abounding.

Mary, Mrs. Craven’s niece: A child, orphaned. Bereft of affection, all hope is gone.

Mary and Colin discover the Secret Garden. Rejoicing, hope and beauty restores what the grief demon usurped. With spring comes healing to Misselthwaite Manor.

My Secret Garden is born, just behind Enola Garden. I am thankful for peace and tranquility, freedom from the heavy entanglements of grief. The garden is a sweet balm of healing.

My husband built this cupola. It remained unfinished due to impossible logistics of having it mounted on a rooftop of a barn. It finds a place of honor. Happy Father’s Day to my sweet family! I am a little late with this blog! I hope it brings as much joy to them as it does to me!

Not too Pinteresting just yet, much more fun to come.

Many thanks to:

Garner Lawn and Construction – such good craftsmanship and so very easy to work with. Grateful for your good work. Thank you!

My Mom and Dad now gone a few years, I found some unexpected cash! Thanks Mom and Dad! My mother and father-in-law gifted me with some more cash at Christmas time, to fund my addictions. Thank you so much! They know me so well. I buy the rose arbor.

Michelle Sanford – CRNP who works with me, you are the best. Christmas gift of Zephirine Drouhin climbing roses for the arbor. Excited to see this come to life.

Tracey Duren – the sweetest friend, I am undeserving. Partners in gardening and so many other crimes. Thank you for your brilliant idea of mounting the cupola on a potting shed! Pure genius!

Kim’s Nursery – I will be back.