The Garden

I have a secret.  A secret that is difficult to explain in the world I live in - a world that only sees in black and white.  Over the years, I have tried to share my secret with a few close friends.  But each time I brought a friend to the garden, I was met with the same raised eyebrows and annoyed question, “Do I see what, Juniper?”  Eventually, I stopped trying, sadly realizing that no one would be able to see things as I do.

I was a young girl when my mother first brought me to the garden.  It was springtime, a slight chill in the misty air, as we walked hand-in-hand down the gray cobblestone path.  “I’m so excited to show you the garden, June Bug!” she exclaimed, a skip in her step.  Towering oak trees, dark pines and spruces rose up on either side of the path the further we walked away from the white farmhouse, and soon a high wall made of stone appeared to our right along the path.  In some places, the wall was difficult to see as it was covered by a thick blanket of dark ivy.

My mother turned to me and clasped both of my hands in hers.  “Ok, we’re here!  You’re about to see something magical!  Something beyond your wildest imagination!”  She was practically vibrating, breathless with excitement.

I giggled.  “Mommy, you are being so silly!  What is so special about this garden?”

She smiled, a twinkle in her eye as she pulled out a key, and replied, “You’re about to find out.  Go ahead - open the gate.”

I turned toward the gray stone wall, at first puzzled when I didn’t see a door.  My mother reached around me to pull back a layer of dark ivy, revealing a white arched gate.  After she unlocked it, I pushed open the gate, and the moment I walked through has been emblazoned in my memory ever since.  At the time, I didn’t have words to describe my awe and wonderment.  My breath caught in my chest and tears sprung from my eyes.  “Mommy, what am I seeing?” I asked.

“You are seeing colors, my love,” she said, wrapping her arms around me.  “All of the shades and hues that live between white and black.  I will teach you the names.  Oh, you will soon be able to tell me a flower is magenta or coral or mauve instead of just pink!  I cannot wait to share all of the colors with you!”

“Is the garden the only place that has colors?” I ask, staring at the lushness of this whimsical place.  Vibrant poppies, ruby-red, apricot-orange, and blush-pink, float above the explosion of green foliage.  Deep purple Siberian irises stand tall on their spiky stems.  White shasta daisies with happy yellow centers are clustered just beyond a tall archway that is heavily laden with pink and white clematis, the light green new growth of the vine reaching out for something to grasp.

Pensively, she stares out over the garden before softly answering, “Once upon a time, the whole world was full of color, just like the garden.  Everyone could see the entire spectrum of hues and shades.  People could see and understand the nuances between different tints, such as cerulean and arctic blue.  Sadly, the world eventually faded to white and black when people started refusing to see the spectrum of colors in between.”

“Why would anyone not want to see color?  This is the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”

“People started to think there was only white or black.  Right or wrong.  Left or right.  All or nothing.  And as the world became more and more divided, people couldn’t see in the middle anymore.  They couldn’t see the spectrum of colors that made the world beautiful and unique.  They could no longer see how the colors swirled and blended together to create harmony and peace, drawing on strengths from both sides, as well as bolstering weaknesses.  The variety of colors, of opinions and thoughts, was squashed and condensed until the whole world could only see black and white,” my mother looked down at me then, tears glistening in her eyes.

“But the good news,” she continues, “is that we have this garden full of color.  We can still see the infinite palette of shades and hues.  It is up to us to care for the garden and to continue planting seeds, seeds of hope and peace and harmony, so the colors are not lost.”

And so each day, rain or shine, in the cold of winter or the heat of summer, I continue to tend the garden, keeping the promise to my mother that I made all those years ago.

***

“Mrs. Frost, would you like to buy some berries?  I have an abundance from my garden this time of year,” I offer to the middle aged woman with snow white hair and a perpetual frown on her face.  Mrs. Frost owns the market in Alabaster village, which is just to the east of the garden.

She flattens her lips and narrows her eyes in disgust.  “You know our village only consumes vegetables.  Fruit is full of sugar, which is bad for health.  It is insulting that you even offered.”

“Well, perhaps there can be a way to consume fruit in moderation.  It would probably be a nice complement to the vegetables you do eat and provide vitamins and nutrients you may not be getting,” I tentatively suggest.

“No.  It is wrong to eat fruit.  It is not healthy.  Please do not bring it to my market again,” she answers, immediately turning away and dismissing me.

I sigh.  The people of Alabaster village see things one way, and no matter how many tiny suggestions I try to make to help them see things in a different light, there is no budging.

I trudge away, pulling my wagon of produce behind me.  Among other things, Alabaster village only teaches math and science in the schools, citing the arts are frivolous and not important means of contributing to society.  Don’t get me started on the number of times I’ve tried to have that argument.

I make my way west to the town of Obsidian, which for all intents and purposes, is the exact opposite of Alabaster village.  The town of Obsidian refuses to eat vegetables.  The schools only focus on reading and writing, believing that reporting news and understanding history is the only way to operate a successful society, while studying numbers and conducting experiments are a waste of time.  Both societies refuse to see the merit or benefit of the other side.

When I reach the town of Obsidian, I head straight to the produce stand.  “Mr. Ebony, how are you today?” I ask the owner of the fruit stand.

“Good morning, June.  What do you have for me?” he answers distractedly, counting out change for a customer.

“I have several bushels of raspberries.  Could I also interest you in some cucumbers and summer squash?  I have a surplus crop this time of year,” I venture.

“I only want the fruit.  You know vegetables cause too much bloating and gastrointestinal issues,” he answers sternly, his brow drawing together, wrinkling his otherwise smooth dark skin.

“I am sure there is a way to balance how many vegetables you eat to mitigate the side effects.  Plus they can provide many vitamins and nutrients you may be missing,” I tentatively suggest, hoping he will take my suggestion better than Mrs. Frost.

“No.  Your vegetables would be a waste to this town.  They are not good for us as they cause unacceptable side effects.  Please do not bring them to me again,” he dismisses me, much like Mrs. Frost did earlier.

As I turn away, I see a man standing there watching me.  His light hair is streaked with dark strands and dark stubble lines his jaw.  But his most arresting features are his vibrant emerald green eyes, strikingly bright with a rim of darker green on the outside.  I forget to breathe.  I’ve only ever seen colors in the garden, but here in front of me stands a man with green eyes - not black, not light, not gray - green.

He saunters toward me, eyes never leaving mine.  “Hi miss.  I noticed your wagon full of produce.  Do you grow the fruits and vegetables yourself?” he asks, his voice deep and melodic.

I blink, trying not to stare at his green eyes.  “I do.  I grow many varieties of fruits and vegetables, as well as many cultivars of flowers,” I answer, lifting my chin as I’m sure I’ll hear a reprimand for bringing vegetables into this town.

“The raspberries look delightful.  And I can never say no to garden fresh cucumbers.  Could I buy some directly from you?” he asks.

I look at him, my mouth agape in shock.  “You want both fruit and vegetables?” I ask, sure I’ve heard him wrong.

“Yes.  As you said yourself, I’ll get a better balance of vitamins and nutrients if I eat a varied diet, which includes both fruits and vegetables,” he replies, a smirk lifting one side of his lips.

I see Mr. Ebony out of the corner of my eye drawing closer, obviously eavesdropping on our conversation.  “Come now, sir.  You have to choose.  You cannot possibly eat both,” he tries to reason, apparently having enough of our appalling conversation.

“Actually - Mr. Ebony is it? - I don’t have to choose one or the other.  I can have both.  I can see the benefits of consuming fruits and vegetables, as this young woman has clearly explained,” the green-eyed stranger simply states.  “Did you know that the hunter-gatherers originally collected vegetables from the wild?  There are historical references to the development of agriculture as far back as 10,000 BC when vegetables first began to be cultivated.”

He turns away from Mr. Ebony, leaving him completely baffled while other people stare at us, astonished.  “I’m Hunter, by the way.  Hunter Green,” he says, offering me his hand.

“Juniper,” I reply,  “Juniper Moss.  But most people just call me June.”  I take his hand in mind, shivering slightly as his large hand warmly wraps around mine.

“I’d love to see your garden sometime.  It sounds magical,” he says, still staring into my eyes.

Unable to tear my gaze from his, I reply, “I’d love to show it to you someday.”

Later, as I walk back towards the white farmhouse, halfway between Alabaster village and the town of Obsidian, I can’t help but think about Hunter and his emerald green eyes.  Since my mother passed away, I thought I’d never meet someone like him, someone who seems to see middle ground.  If I show him my garden, will he be able to see the colors?

***

The next morning, I make my way down the gray cobblestone path towards Alabaster village, pulling my wagon full of fresh produce.  As I draw closer to Mrs. Frost’s market, I try to think of a new way to explain the benefits of eating fresh fruit.

“Hey!  Juniper, wait up!”  I hear a deep voice call from behind me.  Turning around, I see Hunter hurrying toward me, a wide smile on his face, his emerald green eyes sparkling.  I can’t quite breathe as warmth spreads through my body like melted caramel, my heart beating faster.  He is so handsome already.  I cannot imagine how he would look in full color.

“Wow, those strawberries look absolutely mouth-watering.  And I’d love some of those plump string beans.  Can I buy those from you this morning?” he asks.

Meanwhile, Mrs. Frost has come up to us.  “Oh no, young man.  You must choose.  You cannot possibly eat fruit.  It contains so much sugar,” she retorts, brushing an invisible piece of lint off her shoulder.

“Excuse me, ma’am, but fruit contains many vitamins and nutrients that are important for good health.  If you eat moderate portion sizes, you can control the sugar content while also enjoying the benefits of the food.  Did you know there are many scientific studies showing that eating fruit has a variety of health benefits, including heart health and cancer prevention,” Hunter responds, a charismatic smile on his face.  “Therefore, I don’t have to choose fruit or vegetables - I can eat both.” 

Mrs. Frost’s lips purse in disapproval, as other people look on with curiosity.

Once I finish selling my produce, Hunter walks next to me down the gray cobblestone path.  “Interesting.  An entire village that refuses to eat fruit.  And an entire town that refuses to eat vegetables,” he muses, breaking the silence between us after a few minutes.  “And both are so stuck in defending their own beliefs that they can’t hear the merit of the other side.”

“Yes, sadly,” I murmur.  “Unfortunately, whatever the residents of Alabaster village believe, the people who live in Obsidian believe the exact opposite.  There is no in-between.”

“What about you?  Are you from Alabaster or Obsidian?” he asks.

“Oh, I’m from neither actually.  I live in the white farmhouse ahead, between the two,” I answer.

As we come to a stop in front of my house, he turns to me, tilting his head, his green eyes boring into mine.  “I’m wondering if I can see you again.  I’d still love to visit your garden sometime.”

“Sure.  Come back tomorrow morning, and I can bring you to the garden.  It’s at its most beautiful shortly after sunrise, when the morning dew is still clinging to the flowers and foliage,” I answer, a smile stretching across my face.

He smiles back, and in a low whisper, replies, “I’ll see you tomorrow, Juniper.”

***

I’m out of bed before the sun is up, the morning sky just starting to lighten above the horizon.  Perhaps today is the day someone else will finally see the colors of my garden.  Hunter, with his emerald green eyes, is different from anyone I’ve ever met.  He seemed genuinely intrigued to learn that the people in Alabaster village and the town of Obsidian see things in white or black and refuse to acknowledge the kaleidoscope of endless hues in between.

I’m outside the farmhouse, sitting on the dark brick porch steps, when Hunter arrives a little while later.  “Are you ready?” I ask breathlessly as he walks towards the house, his startling green eyes once again stealing all rational thought from my mind.

He smiles slowly.  “I’m ready.  Let’s go.”

We walk side by side down the gray cobblestone path, the trees towering above us, the tall stone wall on our right.  I stop in front of the white gate, pulling the key from my pocket, and suddenly I feel very nervous.  What if he doesn’t see the colors?  What if he gives me the same questioning look all of my friends used to when I brought them to the garden?  I’m afraid I have set myself up for a crushing disappointment.

I pull a deep breath in, closing my eyes briefly, and with my heart in my throat, unlock the gate and push it open.  Hunter walks through and stops, turning in a slow circle, drinking it all in, a look of blissful contentment washing over his face.  A heady fragrance hangs in the air.  This time of year, the garden is a mass of multicolored roses, soft yellow, blushed gold, crimson, white, mulberry pink, deep indigo.  Some roses are shrubs, some are rambling, some are climbing over trellises and tangling together in beautiful chaos.

“So this is where all of the colors are,” he whispers in awe.

“You know about the colors?” I ask, tears brimming in my eyes as I realize what he’s saying.

“When I was a boy, I saw the whole world in color.  My grandfather taught me all of the names since my parents couldn’t understand what I was seeing.  Since my grandfather passed away, I’ve never met another person who knew about colors, let alone could see them,” he answers.  “But when I met you, I saw that your eyes are a beautiful seafoam green.  And it made me hope.”

“I noticed your eyes are emerald green.  And it made me hope too,” I answer, tears running freely down my face now.  In the garden, I can see that his hair is dirty blonde, streaked with sun-bleached strands.  His skin has a healthy tan, his lips a light pink, the stubble on his jaw a darker shade than his hair, closer to light brown with flecks of gold.  He is even more handsome in color.  

“Do you think there is any hope for the rest of the world?  That eventually other people will be able to see in color again?” I ask.

“It’s hard to convince someone to see a different way when they are determined not to.  I think all we can do is show them through how we live our lives,” he says.

When we leave the garden, people approach on the gray cobblestone path, a group coming from the east and a group coming from the west.  As they draw closer, I notice that their eyes have color - sky blue, chocolate brown, hazel with flecks of green.

A young woman from Alabaster village says, “I looked up the research about fruits and health.  I’ve always been interested in trying raspberries.  Could I buy some from you, June?”

A middle-aged man from the town of Obsidian speaks up, “And I read the historical references regarding vegetable intake throughout human civilization.  Carrots have always looked intriguing to me.  I’d love to buy some from you, June.”

Juniper looks at Hunter, her heart expanding with hope. He gives her a slow smile and nods.  Turning to the crowd of people now standing outside the gate, she says, “Let me show you my garden.”