The setting of the story entitled “The Secret Garden” where the narrative unfolds, centers around a private-walled, bramble-invested, weed-overgrown, unkempt- and long-unattended theater of sorts where once roses took center stage.
Following the death of Archibald Craven’s wife – who tended the garden – the sorrowing, grieving husband locked the garden gate, buried the key, and embarked on a journey.
But beauty awaited.
Beauty awaited someone to find the key. Beauty awaited the restoration of what used to be. Beauty then could draw the grieving back home, and who better to do so than children?
“The Secret Garden” written by Frances Hodgson Burnett in 1911, would eventually be judged “one of the best children’s books of the 20th century.”
It was young Mary Lennox who found the key, opened the gate, and entered the garden. In time, Colin Craven joins her. Though both are friendless, there in the garden they become the carefree children they were always meant to be, undergoing both a transformation of themselves and their surroundings.
When the elder Craven returns home, he hears laughter in the garden and is drawn to the gate which is open, and enters to see roses again in bloom.
In the pond, golden leaves rest on lily pads, the entire scene sparkling in wonder.
I too have loved ones, grandchildren and now a wife minding a garden.
I am told that it is a beautiful place, and that there, the laughter of loved ones is contagious, compelling, drawing.
And one day I’ll find the gate open.
Upon returning home.