The Garden (A first draft)

Once upon a time there was a girl who was entrusted with the care of a fresh, new garden. It was a pretty, delicate space, with young saplings and little clumps of bulbs and small twigs of perennial bushes. Thin, sparse blades poked through the brown earth, needling timidly out of the ground. It was a land full of promise and expectation, beautiful in its own way, but promising greater richness, fullness and splendour.

The girl was awed and intimidated by the weight of the gift she had been given. She loved the garden, its quiet spaces and its new life. As she talked with others, they were happy for her, and offered her some advice. They told her to watch out for the deer who liked to eat fresh buds, and the men who liked to trample the ground, slashing trees and uprooting bushes. The girl was afraid, so she turned to the books in her library for advice. Each one recommended something slightly different: a hedge, a fence, a wall. That would protect the plants from the marauders and intruders.

And so the girl began to build. Thick, white bricks. Taller and taller the wall grew, and the townspeople nodded in approval. This girl was smart. She knew how to take care of her garden. True, they could no longer see the dogwood and the apple blooming, but surely it was better that the trees WOULD bloom, and that the wall could give them an opportunity to do so. Besides, thought the girl, she could tear down the wall once the garden was well-established and the trees and plants would no longer be in danger from vandals or wild beasts.

Finally, the wall was complete, and the girl could rest easy, knowing her garden was safe. She spent many days, tending to the trees and flowers inside the quiet safety of the wall.

After a time, she realized how very silent and lonely it was behind the wall. She heard the thrum and hum of the town beyond the wall, and realized how very selfish and isolated she had been. And so she knocked a hole in the wall, and built a gate. She created paths through the garden, placed low chain barriers on either side of the paths, and set up park benches. Then she flung wide the gates and proclaimed to the townspeople that her garden was open. She brought them in by ones and twos and fives and tens. The townspeople oohed and ahhed at the beauty of the garden, and many found rest and restoration for their souls. The trees and flowers and bushes had grown larger and more glorious, and many began to bear fruit. The girl would pick the fruit and distribute it to her visitors, and many were refreshed. The girl was happy that she could share the garden with many, and allow them to experience its splendour. No longer was she lonely and isolated. Many townspeople came to visit with her, and she enjoyed their company.

And all was well.

For a time.

There was an expert gardener in the town who came often to visit the girls garden. He would sit and observe, and watch the plants sway in the breeze. He studied the plants from afar, for he knew to stay on the paths and not venture on to the grass. But as time went on, he saw things that made his eyes scrinch in concern. Something was amiss in the garden. The stems and stalks had to lengthen and lighten, and the leaves became pale. The plants were tall and green, but weak and gangly.

He approached the girl. The wall, he said, had to go. It was blocking the light, and the plants were not able to grow as strong and whole as they ought. Sunshine. The garden needed to be opened to sunshine.

The girl blanched. The walls were there for a very good reason. They kept out the marauders and the wild beasts. And they kept the townspeople from wandering wherever they pleased. What if they wished to pick fruit for themselves? That would not do. No, it would not do at all. And so the girl politely asked the gardener to leave.

Months passed, and the trees and bushes and plants and flowers grew taller and spindlier. One night, there was a storm, and much of the flora, too tall for their roots, collapsed. The next day, the girl walked among the garden, tightness in her chest and prickles in her eyes. No, this garden was not healthy. And so, that day, she invited the gardener back, and together they pulled down the wall, brick by brick. The townspeople watched with interest. Some were skeptical, and warned her that she was a fool; the wild beasts and the wild men would have free range now that the wall was gone.

The day after the wall came completely down, the very worst thing the girl could imagine happened. A band of vandals saw their opportunity and snuck into the garden late at night. But before they could break the first branch, a neighbour lady looked out the window, and saw shadows that ought not to be in a garden. Curiously, she came out to the step holding a lamp. Seeing the men of wicked intent, she yelled to her husband. Together, they stalked to the garden. The vandals fled.

The next day, the girl heard the story from her neighbour. The townspeople were glad to hear the vandals had been frightened away. Taking a deep breath, the girl invited the townspeople onto the lawn, to enjoy the garden, as thanks. As she watched her garden, she noticed deer creeping close to eat the tulip buds. But the townspeople spread out, giggling and laughing, delighting in the soft grass and the broad shade of the maples and the sweetness of mulberries, strawberries and currants. The deer bolted, and moved on to another place, disturbed by all the commotion.

And so the girl thanked the gardener for helping to remove the wall. The plants grew broad and strong and green and rich. The townspeople were enriched by the garden, and the girl was happy, for she never lacked companionship, joy or laughter.