The
Lost GardenWhen winter snow melted away and green shoots began to appear, this is where you would find me.
I became rubber clogs, old comfortable tattered & paint stained clothes, work gloves and wild uncombed hair. Soon to be adorned with leaves and twigs, my face streaked with moist soil, my hands pricked by rose thorns gently bleeding, muscles sore and knees aching, breathing in the magnificent fragrance of this awakening garden. Silent in my tasks I could hear only the sounds of the tiny waterfalls, birds, plants and insects that came together to create this jeweled little plot.
I've never experienced such peace nor been closer to God than when toiling in this green cathedral.
ME
Each section could be gated to keep my English Toys out of harms way.
The ugly gargoyle fountain came from a little nursery in Rumson NJ.
(one of the first things we built were the privacy fences - and thus began the practice of defining the 'garden 'rooms')
This deck was perfect for keeping my little English Toys secure in the main garden, as they tended to take themselves to the gardens at the far side of the garage for their adventures
In the flower bed in the forground there lived a yellow spider. He (she?) was beautiful, a clear bright yellow with a tiny aqua mark on his body and a very accomplished web builder he was. Every spring I would wait and watch for his web. Sure enough, year after year it would appear and I would renew my friendship with my yellow spiderfriend. Not knowing the first thing about spiders, I suspect it was probably a new spider each year but to me it was a continuance of the gardens' rebirth each year, to be counted on as the sun rising or setting, reliable and almost eternal. I like to think he wondered why I hadn't gently tapped next to his web to call him out and say hello this year but that would be giving him more credit than he deserves. Even if spider memory caused him to think of me for just a moment, surely he's forgotten about me by now.
Long ago a grief stricken young
woman was gifted this pond by a handsome, princely young man. It was dug out of
the hard packed earth with picks and shovels, no easy task. The stones were
carried and placed by hand, one by one. All this activity, sweat and toil
elicited the curiosity of the sadly silent woman. Like a wary forest creature,
each day she approached just a bit more closely, to view the progress. As
the water was added to the empty pond, the prince took note that the young woman
had stepped out of the darkness and was now standing at the very edge of the new
pond; still silent but in the sunlight at last.
Listening to the sounds made by the trickling water as he adjusted the rocks that formed the fall, he would glance toward the quiet woman. Too loud a gushing would cause her to frown so he'd rearrange the rocks. Musical tinkling water sounds caused the corners of her mouth to rise ever so slightly. He continued to labor at arranging the rocks until the many varied water sounds brought a tiny smile to the woman's face. He knew then that the sound of the waterfall was perfect and he slowly walked away leaving the woman alone with the magical pond. He watched as she sat beside the pond every day listening to its music, taking in the sunshine and gradually her sadness lessened. Eventually they sat beside the pond together and for years they would talk and laugh with the sound of the waterfall as a counterpoint to their lives. In a perfect world they would still be seated beside their waterfall but as this is a narrative of a real garden the truth must be told. The prince stopped listening to the magical sounds and turned dark and cruel. The woman, now old and weary, ceased smiling and grew silent again, each day moving closer to the familiar, seductive darkness of the forest, almost eagerly because this time she would bring with her the memories of the musical waterfall and her sweet prince.
