Friday, June 18, 2010


File:The Secret Garden book cover - Project Gutenberg eText 17396.jpg

What little girl doesn't love this book? 

Guess what.

I have a secret garden.

I have written before about the cabin that we are blessed to have.  It is in the Finger Lakes Region of New York and has been in my husband's family for years.  We have had many grand adventures there.
It is an untamed forest but there are garden secrets everywhere.
See the overgrown forsythia bushes tangled with assorted vines, weeds and raspberry canes that line the gravel driveway?
I haven't been there in early spring when they bloom in close to 10 years, but I know they show off their glorious yellow dress to the birds, the bunnies and the deer while everything else is still waking from a long winter's nap.
In May, if you look in shady spots near the stream, you will find tiny violets.

The moss is like green velvet,
the creatures are brilliant,
 even the weeds are beautiful in my secret garden.
There is a creek that runs down the mountainside in my garden.
It is lined with ferns more artfully than any landscaper's design.

When we arrived in time for Memorial Day this year, I was delighted to find the final moments of bright orange poppies growing near the house.  In all the years we have been here I did not know they were there.  And yet they have been secretly blooming every spring, for the glory of God, without human applause, for years.
My girls quickly created an arrangement for the table with their final fiery blossoms.

Last week I found a bush, along a steep portion of the creek bank, that I had in the first home my husband and I owned.  I know it as a mock orange blossom but I do not know if that is its proper name.  The little white flowers are so deeply and sweetly scented (like jasmine, or gardenia) that it was their perfume I recognized and then turned to see the bush shining with raindrops.

This secret garden, these woods, and the 2 cabins hidden here are loved by my husband for their childhood memories of family and adventure.  It is a place steeped in memories of his grandparents.  Their very hands building the walls, their feet planning the path for the roads we wander now, their work that blesses my children with adventures.  I have enjoyed sharing these memories with my husband's family but I have grown to love this magical place for my own reasons.  Soon we will be moving west and we will not be able to visit as frequently but I love the idea of this secret garden waiting patiently for its visitors.

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