My Childhood Garden

My childhood garden was a dear sweet friend. So many memories I shared with that little piece of earth. Sadness and joy, tears with both. So many things I long to find again in that peaceful little place. I see a child who found a lost treasure. A small gold coin buried, only to be uncovered by a miniature hand. On another day the garden served as the final resting place for a young puppy. His tiny heart was too weak to go on. This day brought a great sadness over all who looked upon the girl weeping for the little dear. Still other days life went on, the raking of leaves in late fall, the covering of snow in early spring. A pet turtle burrowed in that ivy searching for a breakfast of worms. Long slender fingers worked alongside little chubby hands pulling weeds and planting flowers. Days came and went, turning into years. The aspen in front of the door was cut down and new grass was laid to rest. The garden stayed the same as twice the house was painted and the luscious grass was torn up by rowdy youngsters playing football. The garden witnessed the little girl hurrying down the driveway with a packed bag. It watched the same little girl come running home when she got hungry and cold. The garden caught the streamers as the girl said bon voyage to her tenth year. She cheered aloud as her mother cried inwardly for time to slow down. But alas it trudged on. The garden watched the girl in her young years, comforting her in sad times and rejoicing with her in glad ones. It cradled her as she prayed after a dognapping and it caught the tears when her friend was returned. It gave itself up to her little experiments and let her dig for more buried treasure. Bike jumping competitions and street hockey were a favorite of the neighborhood children and when a mysterious man gave them all candy the garden watched them run and tell mommy. In the winter mommy would take her and her brothers outside to collect snow for snow ice cream and give them one carrot and two chocolate chips for the face of their snowman. In the spring she would hand them bags to pick up the crab apples that had fallen on the ground. In summer the garden was showered with sprinklers and little pattering feet, squeals of delight filled the air as cold water touched warm bodies. Fall brought the leaves and children to rake them into piles and jump in them. So many things happened there, and the little girl finally had to leave her childhood home. Moving away from that little garden where so many memories were made was hard but she got through it. Even though she left the garden, God did not leave her. He nurtured and cared for her until now, that girl is me looking back to her. How young and innocent she was and still is in many ways. I love her but I know she is gone from me. Perhaps though she will be seen again in future generations with a garden of her own to watch her live and love, to change and be. Maybe, just maybe her charming smile will once more fall onto a beloved plot of land shining upon and nurturing the beautiful inhabitance. So much can be said but so small a space in which to write. Memories, a million or more, flood over me and take me back to my childhood garden.