A miracle, don't you think, this alchemy that turns grapes into wine.
I've been reading Second Nature, by Michael Pollan, subtitled 'A Gardener's Education'. He muses about the suburban landscape, the gentleman farmer, and his own backyard: "What I'm making here is a middle ground between nature and culture, a place that is at once of nature and unapologetically set against it; what I'm making is a garden".
Not sure if it fully qualifies as memoir, but it has many recollections about his growing up, and of gardens in his past and present. I couldn't believe this sentence, because it seemed stolen from my personal memory:
Whenever I needed to be out of range of adult radar, I'd crawl beneath the forsythia's arches... and find myself in my own green room.
I had a forsythia in my own backyard growing up, and spent a lot of time in this hidden room one summer. I think I first discovered the green chamber during a game of hide and seek. No one found me, and I couldn't believe the riddle of finding a place where I could be so hidden in plain view. Growing up I didn't have a space to call my own - six kids and four adults in a four bedroom house make things "cozy". When I discovered this hiding place it was a secret I didn't share for weeks. Then someone saw me creeping inside the branches, and soon all the kids wanted to cram inside. I would go there expecting solitude only to find two or three other small bodies huddled within.
But before it was a shared destination, it was my personal magical spot. Cooling on a hot summer day, the smell of dirt and growing things. My own territory, small as it was. Light shining through the leaves and turning them into stained glass. Escape. A place made just for me, awaiting my discovery.
Maybe that is part of the reason I love my garden so much now, and just being there surrounded in the green.
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