Thursday, January 26, 2012
Dad's Secret Garden
His hands have toiled every square inch of the tiny back yard, coaxing an ever changing array of vegetation from each nook and cranny. Throughout childhood I nursed a secret garden fantasy (a la Frances Hodgson Burnett) gazing into and playing in that yard. My sister and I shared a room that looked into the garden and dad purposely chose the most fragrant rose bush to plant under our window. The man is 81 and he still describes his plants with bright, open enthusiasm. Now that I have my own garden to tend, I aim to channel some of his instinct and deep sense of wonder while I move amongst the leaves and flowers.