Our secret garden

Our Secret Garden

When we saw Mommy get the stroller out of the side porch on those hot, Maryland Spring days we knew we were going somewhere fun. All three of us, too young to go to school, would pull on our Velcro sneakers and fill our water bottles. Kelsey and AJ, the youngest siblings would load in the double stroller, and I would walk next to it, keeping a gentle hand on the handle. 

“Look Mommy, I can push too!” I would sing as she smiled down at me. Sometimes it would be a trip to the library, a walk to the farmer’s market, or a gallop to our beloved “dinosaur” playground. Walking down our hilly neighborhood Kelsey and I would point out everything our young minds found interesting - a rabbit hopping, the neighbor’s new tricked out sprinkler, a yappy dog pulling on a leash. Today we would hike to the Y trail.  The Y trail was what we called the trail at the bottom of the hill of our neighborhood. It was behind our local YMCA, the place where we spent long winter days swimming in the warm indoor pool, climbing on the children's rock wall, sipping smoothies at the smoothie bar.  The woods behind the Y were a sort of magical place for us with the towering trees and the babbling brook that twisted its way around the trails sending a peaceful feeling to all of us.  We would spend hours on the big gray boulders in the middle of the trail playing games like tag, the floor’s Lava, or racing over their smooth surfaces. Our Mom would warn us not to run so fast, warning we would fall off. Of course we did fall off running too fast on little legs, but we always got back up again laughing, blood or no blood. But the real reason I was so excited was at the bottom of the hill before the trail. At the beginning of the street that led to the trail was a gate. Behind that gate was our Secret garden. My Mom would park the stroller and watch Kelsey and I clasp hands as we crossed the street and slowly, carefully press open the brown wood gate. Even though we saw the garden often, it always took our breath away. Well, I don’t know about Kelsey’s, but mine was always silent and peaceful. It felt like if you breathed it would take the magic away. The soft green grass rippled in the summer wind and the colorful flowers seemed to scream for attention. Our favorites were the roses, partly because they were beautiful, but mostly because they were our Gigi's favorite. She always loved roses the best. But the tulips and the daffodils also demanded to be seen. We believed that fairies lived inside the tulips dressed in all sorts of colors that coordinated. The bushes were always trimmed perfectly and the stone steps begged to be walked on. “Don't go in,” my mother warned as I edged my toes over the line between the street and the garden. After a while, my sister would get bored of watching the magic and tug me back towards the street, but I never would. Even at that young age, I wanted nothing more than to lay in the soft grass and watch the flowers grow, listen to the stream gurgle under the bridge and follow the honey bees busily carry fairy (pollen) dust about . It reminded me of the poster in my grandparent’s kitchen that read in pink cursive letters, “ There is no place I would rather spend the hours then here among my blooming flowers.” 

In all my time peering into that garden I never saw the woman who lived there. I suppose that that added to why I thought it so mysterious.  It made it seem as if some magical creature was tending to the plants. Caring for them, talking to them, teaching them to adapt to the always changing Maryland weather. “ I want to climb the rocks!” my sister would whine to my mom as she held my squirmy, baby brother Aj . I daydreamed about turning cartwheels in the grass for the flowers to see. They would clap their green hands and trumpet my name into the wind. Eventually we would have to leave to keep walking to the trail, but I would forever keep that garden in my mind. Even though it wasn't truly ours, it always would be ours in my mind and hopefully my sisters too.

Sometimes now because I'm older, when I take my younger brothers on walks I will gently press open the gate and show them the wonders of the garden. Sure maybe it's not as colorful as it used to be. Maybe the grass doesn't shine as green. Maybe the steps aren’t quite as inviting but the magic is not even half gone. It floats out of it like a sweet smelling fragrance.  My brothers don't enjoy it like Kelsey and I did. They will spend time looking, but soon get bored and beg to climb the rocks on the trail. The rocks too are so much smaller than I remembered them.  What felt like flying when we jumped from one to another now feeling more like a hop.  Now I laugh as my brothers climb them and cry from the top, “ Look at me, I'm so high up!”  The rocks might be more interesting to them, but to me the garden will always be my favorite place to see on those hot spring days in Maryland. There were many funny memories made near that garden from the time we first discovered it. My friends and I would ride bikes down that hill loving the feeling of the wind whipping in our hair, they would fly by the garden using the momentum from the hill to send them rolling faster. I would always slow down a tad to take a peek at my garden. Once when it was just my closest friend, Kate and I riding, she rode too fast, not taking time to look at the garden and hit the guardrail on the side of the road. She flew off her bike barely catching herself before falling into the stream. Secretly, even at age 12, i believed it was the garden telling her- slow down and look at me! I believed many things about that garden over the years but one thing is for sure, I still believe in the magic it brought to me.