My mom read the book to me when I was very young; The Secret Garden. I read it about three more times in my childhood.
My mom was an avid gardener, yet I couldn’t be trusted to water our indoor plants if she were out of town. True, I killed an indoor silk ficus that she gave to me when I moved into my own home. I began watering it, and it rotted the fake soil core.
A black thumb.
My mom, on the other hand, is a magician in her garden.
While visiting her recently, I was just amazed at what she’s transformed her modest yard into.
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There’s a small pond in the center with brightly colored fish, and little statues and lighting for evenings.
She’s converted the dog run into an outdoor eating spot, filled with flowers and even hanging art.
Where she finds the time to water, weed, prune and feed these plants is beyond me. It looks like so much work.
But it all is worth it when she’s able to sit in her own Secret Garden and have supper.