"If you look the right way, you can see that the whole world is a garden."
- Frances Hodsgon Burnett, The Secret Garden
My senior year in college I was feeling a little adventurous and enrolled in a fiction writing class. Within the English major I could chose to concentrate in literature or creative writing. The first day in my fiction writing class I knew I had chosen the wrong concentration, however, I still had one semester left to cram in as many writing electives as I could. Don't get me wrong, I greatly appreciate all of the long papers, late nights, half read novels (and even that's being optimistic), high brow discussions, and eccentric professors. But, the aloof English literature professors didn't hold a candle to the writing professors. Dr. Troy held class at a local coffee shop where we read our short stories aloud on comfy couches in the bright sunlit room, entertaining numerous eavesdroppers;
Dr. Hammersmith, a legend at Auburn,
did not own a computer but used a typewriter (year 2004), had a weird aversion to staples, and hadn't bought new clothes since 1973, no doubt one of my best teachers; Dr. Braden introduced us to
Moonstruck; Dr. Keirstead insisted we read aloud in our best British accent; Dr. Tong took her copy of
Moby Dick with her everywhere; and Dr. Gresham was friends with "Mr. King" (Stephen). He was maybe the least eccentric of the bunch but insisted on "raising the bar" with every story we wrote. It was in his class I discovered fiction writing.
That's a lot of introduction to tell you about something that sticks with me from that first fiction writing class, but weren't my professors great? I could tell you more, but I guess I should get to the point. Dr. Gresham asked all five of us sitting around a table in the conference room where we met, "What book first introduced you to the power of reading?" I know I'm not phrasing it exactly like he did, but he wanted to know when we were first transported to another world, lost in the pages, and couldn't put the book down, when we first experienced the power of story. My answer- The Secret Garden, somewhere around third grade, curled up on my hot pink bean bag, which was adorned with patches of rad sneakers and funky flowers. I was lost, transported to another world, and I didn't want it to be over.
The photograph above reminds me of that book. More so, this part of our yard reminds me of it. This is our fourth spring in the house and each year we discover something new popping out of the ground, something planted maybe ninety years ago, maybe seventy or thirty years ago, by someone who dug in the dirt and gently covered bulbs, by someone who invested in the beauty of our yard. We're slowly working on cleaning up the overgrown tangled mess, but isn't there so much beauty in the age that is evident by the vines growing like wrinkles? Laurence insisted that what I kept referring to as some sort of bright green leafy ground cover was in fact the
foliage of day lilies. I didn't believe him until last spring, when, after removing overgrown trees and weeds, some of those day lilies came back to life in bright orange and yellows. I'm sure we'll see even more return this year after continuing to clean up the overgrown mess. I can't wait until this patch of our yard returns to it's original intended splendor... just like that garden hidden behind the tall brick ivy covered walls.
"As she came closer to him she noticed that there was a clean fresh scent of heather and grass and leaves about him, almost as if he were made of them. She liked it very much and when she looked into his funny face with the red cheeks and round blue eyes she forgot that she had felt shy."
- Frances Hodgson Burnett, The Secret Garden
Hmm... I think it's time to read this book again:) What book was it that first introduced you to the power of story?
