A post from my old blog, a taste of what’s to come.
Febuary 9, 2011
It was a shame to see Grandma’s garden today – once a magnificent wonderland, now an overgrown wilderness. It was certainly more beautiful when I was a child, well kept, cherished and something to be proud of. The lawns are no longer trimmed and the plants are no longer pruned. Rogue blackberries have turned what once was a carefree amble into a treacherous journey, and many of the garden paths can no longer be taken for the extensive overgrowth. But still there is a beauty to it.
It is no longer the handsome, well kept gardens that flower buffs used to come have tours of. But it retains its natural beauty and playground feel. Only now it is more suited to an older child. The small, naive child, who once flew through these magnificent gardens without a care in the world, wouldn’t survive in this jungle. This wilderness is more suited to a child who can fend for themselves, one who knows the sharp sting of the blackberries, knows where the snakes come out to bathe in the sun, and where the jumping ant nests lie.
Laying back on the long grass and looking up into the endless blue sky, with the sound of the birds and the moist scent of the dew – I could almost forget the ruined beauty around me, and feel as if I were back there. Back to when I was just a child, racing through the paths, hiding secret, coded messages written in my best glittering gel pens on parchment I had peeled oh so carefully from the cherished paper-bark tree, holding buttercups to my nose and delighting in the bright yellow glow, fighting off imaginary enemies – with sticks carefully chosen for their magical properties – from the safety of the tree forts. But the garden will never again be the sweet, blossoming spectacle that it once was, and I will never again be that child.
It seems we both grew up, this garden and I.