Miss Dinah's Garden

Jenny was a funny sort, the kind of girl that danced outside in the rain with no hat on and wore galoshes to school on a sunny day.  She named each of the squirrels that frequented her porch and window, watching their daily lives with rapt fascination.  She always laughed at even the littlest things like a hyena, throwing her head back and grinning wildly whenever she was amused. She wasn’t exactly dense either: Jenny, though only in fifth grade, knew the distance from the earth to the sun, how to spell discombobulated (a word which she proudly spouted at any given occasion), and many other odd facts.  Her straw-brown hair, lightened by the frequent touch of the summer sun, was always bound back in a ponytail, bouncing around her shoulders as she skipped along to school.  She was lanky and blessed with the energy and creativity of the young; she was, for example, given to counting her freckles after a bath; for she felt that each freckle was a good luck charm from the ‘gerrybuckles’ (creatures she whispered lived in bushes and ate jam straight from the jar). Jenny’s clothes were always mismatched and cobbled together like a patchwork quilt, much to her own delight and the despair of her mother and older sister.  One morning her sister was beside herself as she beheld Jenny radiant in her newest outfit, a pair of worn, tattered blue jeans with a t-shirt displaying the logo of a mountaineering company, over which she wore a wool vest of a clashing color and a bright red boa tied around her head.
         “Aw c’mon Jen!” Melissa whined, her heavily lacquered nails drumming the tabletop. “It’s so terrible!  The colors clash, and the boa’s supposed to be around your neck.”
         Jenny finished stuffing the last of her mother’s homemade muffins and apples into her lunch bag before she turned to her sister, a mischievous grin on her face and sparkle in her eyes.
         “Who says it’s supposed to be that way?  There’s no rule I was told of!”
         Melissa buried her face in her hands as Jenny skipped out the door, tossing a goodbye back through the screen door and nearly running into the thick elm tree in the front yard.
         Jenny, though labeled as an oddball by most of her class, had several friends who shared her love of peculiarity.  Together, after school and homework were finished, they would dash off into the nearby woods, their minds filled to bursting with the exciting things they were going to do.  A group of sandstone rocks took the form of a great castle, complete with moat and grumpy sea dragon guarding the perimeter.  A huge maple tree became a city for the elves, the nearby ditch turning into a powerful river, which they could sail down.  The afternoons passed into evenings as the adventures unfolded, melding into one grand escapade.  Once the sun dipped below the horizon, and long shadows groped for the hillsides, then the children would dash off to their homes, eagerly planning the next day’s exploits.
         One of Jenny’s favorite things to do was to wander down the lane to Miss Dinah’s house.  She was an immigrant from England’s countryside, and always insisted that Jenny join her in a cup of tea and scones.  Jenny had met her one day as she was hunting for Torgs by the stream that giggled its way down the valley by her house.  Glancing up for a moment, Jenny had noticed a dark brown fence that could hardly contain the colors that were threatening to burst from its grasp; flowers of all shapes, sizes, and colors filled a wide garden, making the ground look like a giant patchwork rainbow.  Some patches were interesting in their neatly arranged rows; other resplendent in their wild, higgledy-piggledy bunches.  Trellises helped ivy and morning glories to gracefully climb their way up the sides of a neat little house in the center of the garden, and walkways wound to and fro through the garden, bricks and cobblestones perfectly aligned within the twisting, turning path.
         “Lovely little spot, isn’t it my dear?” A bright, merry voice with an English twang broke into Jenny’s amazed thoughts.  She blinked and looked around, her gaze finally resting on a ruddy face peering at her above the fence.  The lady in question was a bit stout around the waist, but she did not appear to be overweight, just pleasantly filled in. Her eyes were small and bright, like the twinkling eyes of a chickadee. Gray hair was bursting from under her large straw hat, curling out from under the rim in an untidy mess. She wore faded jeans and a blouse, over which a dirt-stained apron was tied. In her gloved hands she held a trowel and a pouch of seeds.
         Jenny immediately took a fancy to the cheery old lady. “Yes ma’am!  Did you plant all that yourself?” She asked in wonderment, moving closer to the odd woman and her magnificent garden.
         The lady nodded delightfully. “I sure did young miss, but it’s them as did all the growin’, mind you!” She chuckled as she waved at the flowers nodding their agreement in the gentle summer breeze.  They seemed to soak in the sunlight, their colors glowing in the hot afternoon. “What were you doing by the stream?”
         The young girl grinned and glanced back. Answering wouldn’t do her any harm; besides, the spry old woman had been nice enough to satisfy her curiosity, after all.  “Oh! You saw that?” She tweaked the little plastic sword that was stuffed through her belt. “I was hunting Torgs!  I’ve heard that if you catch them they’ll give you two wishes!”
         “Why, what are Torgs, m’dear?” The lady leaned a little closer against the fence, her bright little eyes filled with curiosity.
         “Big green things, kinda like frogs, you know?  They have looooong legs, purple spots, and they love to eat waterbeetles.” Jenny said, waving her arms around.
         The old woman chuckled merrily. Such a fascinating child she’d come across! “Oh, how interesting!  I think I may ‘ave scared the Torgs off, though, so how about you join me in a spot o’ tea while we wait for them to come out again?”
         Jenny smiled brightly and gave another quick nod, flicking a hand at her ponytail. “Okay, if I can call my parents and make sure it’s all right!”
         The lady jovially traipsed into the house, quickly returning with a phone. Jen’s parents had already seen the old woman at church services; they agreed it wouldn’t hurt to let Jen spend some time with her.  Once all was settled, Jen happily set foot into the garden of the charmingly quaint woman she’d later learn to call Miss Dinah.

         There was always something new to discover in Miss Dinah’s garden, right from the start. Some of Jenny’s fondest memories, in fact, were from her first visit into the enchanting yard.  The cheerful faces of the flowers seemed to nod a greeting to her, welcoming her in with open stalks.  Her nose was tickled by the sweet perfume of the flora; the rich, earthy soil and steamy tea on the kettle mingled in the air around her, leaving the young girl with a serene, lightheaded feel.  The rest of the world seemed to fade into the distance, and all she knew was the garden.  Paths ran here and there, sometimes disappearing into shaded alcoves or rows of tall hedges and flower bushes; some areas were wide open, bits of brilliant green lawn seeming to stretch on forever into the horizon, a small bench lovingly beckoning weary feet to rest; others were jungles of plants and trees with narrow corridors twisting through them, each path winding its own way towards new sights and sounds, each bush or vine begging the adventurer to entertain his imagine, and step off the beaten road to see what lay beyond them.  Jenny still remembered when she first discovered the lively little pool filled with bright green duckweed in the center of the garden; clear, cool water trickled from a pile of rocks, twinkling and bouncing its way down into the pool; goldfish swam gaily through the water, their scales flashing the gold of their namesake in the rippling sunlight as their long tails gracefully trailed behind them.  Occasionally a frog would find its way to the pond and sit beside the water’s edge, chirruping in a little voice, inviting other frogs to join it in their own festivities.  Further from the pool, the little stream burbled off into the flowers; following it, Jenny had discovered other parts of the garden where it crossed the path under a little bridge built of cedar.
         Miss Dinah was always busy in her garden, always wearing the same white apron stained with dirt, her knees and elbows brown from the soil she knelt in. Her flowers were obviously her prime delight in life; she seemed to know the name of each and every plant in her garden, and was most certainly thrilled to enlighten young Jenny on the particulars of each.
         “This, m’dear, is a snapdragon: squeeze it and it’ll open its mouth then snap right back!  Smell this honeysuckle, m’dear, ain’t it lovely? Always a soothing little plant! Oh, and this sweet potato plant is runnin’ over its pot again!  Mind the primrose m’dear, oh and look at my foxgloves!  They’ve outdone themselves this year!”
         Jenny always went home with a sprig of some sort of herb or flower to proudly show her parents, cheerfully informing them of any and all of its distinctions and specialties, before caringly potting it outside.  Her visits with Miss Dinah definitely brightened the home too; Jenny’s parents happily encouraged the visits; they, too, were charmed by the delightful old lady, just as Jenny was. It was not long before she eagerly invited her friends to come with her to meet Miss Dinah; soon, they all took to having tea in the garden after school everyday, with Miss Dinah’s eyes winking like bright little beads as she listened with rapt attention to their latest escapades.
         One afternoon Jenny and her two friends were attending one such teatime, describing last night’s adventures out by the gully. She was wearing her latest finds from the thrift store: a foppish straw hat and a jumper festooned with clouds; her favorite toy sword was thrust through a belt worn across her shoulder, so it would hang down her back.
         “And Murtarg dashed over to save Princess Julie, slaying the evil dragon with a swipe of his mighty sword!  Hahhaah!” Matt swung his arms so wildly that his chair toppled over, and him along with it, causing everyone to shriek with laughter.  He brushed himself off, laughing along with the rest of them.
         Jenny picked up the story, though not without another giggle here and there. “The Bangos were coming right at us!” “I picked up a boulder and threw it at them!  Splat!” She slapped the table with one hand, illustrating the Bangos’ fate for Miss Dinah.  “I’d heard Bangos love to nibble your eyebrows, and I said ‘no sir, you go back to your tree stumps!’ and they ran.”
         Miss Dinah wiped at her eyes, chuckling merrily at the children’s innocent antics. “Oh dear me, what fun you have had!  If my Arthur were still here, he’d laugh twice as hard!”
         Megan looked confused through a mouthful of scone. “Who’s Arthur, Miss Dinah?”
         The old woman brushed off her apron, pursing her lips as she spoke with a wistful tone. “Arthur… was my dear husband.  He died during a hard winter, and so I moved out here.” She raised up the teapot she was holding a tad higher. “Look at this, entirely made of metal!  Dear Arthur loved to craft things from metal…” She tilted the teapot to its bottom, revealing her name lovingly engraved into the metal. “He made this especially for me, because we both loved tea so much.”
         Jenny nodded absently, examining her scone with a frown. “The Frumples have nibbled at this….”
         Matt grinned, nudging his friend. “No you silly, that was you!”
         
         Miss Dinah always seemed to have something interesting to say to Jenny.  One day, Jenny had been muttering rebelliously under her breath as she reached the gate to the garden. She was furious after being laughed at by her class for stating that the king of the wood fairies had demanded her school report to make into a crown.  Miss Dinah met her with a trowel tucked into her apron and a concerned look on her rosy face.
         “Now now, dear, what’s gotten you into a tizzy?” She asked, folding her arms.
         Jenny sighed, feeling a little of her anger draining away“Ah, my class laughed at me; said I was stupid and weird.”
         The little old lady smiled and took Jenny’s hand in hers. “Now you listen, my dear.  Look here, at this little columbine flower,”
         Most columbines had both petals both white and teal; this one, however, bore only the white.  Jenny was entranced by the beauty of the little white flower, which shone like a star in the shade of the larger plants.
         “You see…? You know this one is different… Yet you still find it beautiful!” Miss Dinah exclaimed, brushing the petals with her fingers.
         Now Jenny smiled, nodding gratefully to the wise old woman. Miss Dinah always seemed to be able to cheer her up, no matter how foul a mood she was in.
         “Now you may be different, my dear, but that’s what makes you shine even brighter!” The bright-eyed herbalist finished with a charming smile.

Jenny learned all sorts of things from Miss Dinah; the old lady always seemed to have a bit of wisdom tucked into her apron, or a new joke hidden under her hat, which she produced grandly with a flourish, a smile lighting up her bird-like eyes.  She taught Jenny how to properly plant a new flower or how to make a bird feeder, and in turn Jenny taught her to make paper cranes that flapped their wings, or told her of the creatures in her adventures.  Sometimes they would talk about England, and Miss Dinah’s home. “Oh you would have loved it there, everything seems to grow brighter in the English soil!” Miss Dinah would often proclaim with a sigh. But Jenny knew she loved her garden here just as well: the evidence was all in the plants so lovingly cared for.  Sometimes Jenny would ask about Arthur, and Miss Dinah would wistfully talk about the times they had spent together, the joys they had shared.  She was rarely depressed about his passing on, and always spoke fondly about their time together, and always with hope that they would meet again.  Jenny found herself skipping happily through the days, always looking forward to her time spent in the garden with her friends and Miss Dinah. 
Summer passed quickly as old flowers died and new ones flourished in the sunlight.  Jenny’s sister continued to despair at her sibling’s fashion sense and her habit of putting the peanut butter on the outside of the bread, but her parents happily looked on as she came home grinning every evening for dinner, her face aglow with her experiences in the garden and the things she had learned from Miss Dinah.
         Autumn came, and with it came change.  Jenny walked through the gate into the garden one cloudy day, and the flowers seemed duller somehow, reflecting her somber mood.  Miss Dinah was kneeling in a patch of fresh soil, a pot of tulip bulbs beside her.  Seeing the look on Jenny’s face, she brushed her hands off and scrutinized the young girl.
         “Why Jenny, what is the matter my dear?”
         The young girl sat on the ground beside Miss Dinah, letting out a sigh of dismay. “Oh why do things have to change, Miss Dinah?  Why can’t things stay how they are?” She grasped a bit of soil and let it trickle through her fingers, breathing in the comforting smell of warm, moist soil. The charm didn’t work this time, though… “My mum and dad say we have to move!” Tears prickled at the edges of her eyes, and she scrubbed at them angrily.  Miss Dinah leaned forward and brushed her hands over a newly planted sprig of foxglove.  She plucked off all the blooms, leaving behind a few buds.
         Jenny had always been puzzled whenever Miss Dinah had done this before, but never bothered to inquire as to why she did it.  Now, feeling grumpy and sad, she blurted out: “Why do you do that?  You’re just hurting the flower, and ruining all the work it did to put out those flowers!”
         Miss Dinah gave a small smile and pointed to a foxglove near the new plant.  It was flourishing; its blooms were bright and large now. “Look, m’dear, I did the same thing to this one when I just planted it.  I snip off the blossoms so the flower will put its energy into the roots to make better flowers.  If it starts with too many when it is just planted, it will be drained from the task of making flowers.  But if I trim it, the plant will grow t’ be stronger, and will have the strength to make better blossoms later on.” She now looked at the young girl with empathy in her eyes. “Changes have to happen, m’dear.  Otherwise you wouldn’t get a chance to grow.”  Putting one arm around the girl’s shoulders comfortingly, she continued. “You have t’ be snipped and plucked, just like this little foxglove, so you can work at being better and stronger.  Then you’ll grow up to be like this foxglove,” She indicated the burgeoning plant with its many bright and wonderful blossoms.  “Stronger and better then you were before.  But, oh my dear, I will miss you so!” She gave her a firm, one-armed hug; the move was quickly forgotten for the time being as Jenny helped her to plant a new row of gladiolas. Perhaps Miss Dinah’s words hadn’t entirely lifted her spirits, but they did give her some food for thought.
Jenny walked home that day still gloomy, yet thinking hard on what Miss Dinah had said.  The woman always knew the right things to say, she reflected.  Jenny’s galoshes clattered on the sidewalk as she thought.  Was that what it was like to be old?  Full of wisdom and having a strange affinity for tea and scones?  Jenny was now determined that when she caught her Torg, she would wish to she would grow up to be like Miss Dinah, and have a grand garden with scores of sturdy, towering foxgloves.
         The next few weeks were hard as she said her goodbyes to all her friends and favorite places in the woods, but Jenny felt a little better for Miss Dinah’s words.  The autumn weather seemed to reflect her feelings, turning rainy and gray.  On the day they were to drive away to their new home, Jenny stopped by Miss Dinah’s garden for one final visit.  She found the old lady by the rows of primrose and hibiscus, trimming a boxwood bush so the others around it would have more room to grow. The herbalist warmly beckoned her forward; together they shared one last cup of tea before Miss Dinah told Jenny to wait for her as she went into the house.  At first Jenny simply sat at the table waiting for Miss Dinah to return, but slowly she began to gaze around the majestic garden, soaking in the glorious world she had come to know and love.  From the garden fence the roses gleamed like bright berries among their dark leaves, the crimson flowers glowing faintly with mid-autumn dew.  The trellises were crawling with ivy, cardinal flowers, and morning glories now, while the pathway leading to the little table was lined with bishops weed, columbine, and geraniums.  Jenny’s favorite little lawn gnome, a fellow she had named Bloggit, seemed to wink at her from the dark green lawn, assuring her that everything would be all right.  Deeper, farther in the garden, she could hear the chirrup of the frogs by the pond, their chorus echoing with the ripples of the water.  The breeze stirred the tops of the tall laurel and hibiscus bushes, causing the plants to dance gently in the wind.  Miss Dinah appeared out of the flowers, walking towards Jenny along one of the cobbled paths, and Jenny smiled at the picture that she saw.  The bright-eyed old lady with her dirty apron and straw hat with the flyaway gray hair, her cheeks rosy and tanned winked at her cheerfully, and Jenny knew she would always remember it, no matter how old she grew.
         “Look, my dear, I made you a batch of scones for the trip!  Oh, and this is for you also, but you can’t open it until you get to your new home!”
Jenny sniffled and took the bag and the tin, recognizing that it was one of the pieces that Arthur had made for Miss Dinah.  She suddenly felt a lump rise in her throat, and threw her arms around the woman’s neck, bursting into tears, sobbing breathlessly into her shoulder.
“I-I don’t wa-wanna leave, Miss Dinah!”
The grey haired woman stroked her hair and squeezed her tightly, her own eyes twinkling with tears now. “I’ll miss you, my dear Jenny…  We all will.” They stood there for a moment, taking comfort in each other’s embrace, each delaying the moment when they would have to part from the other.  Finally, Jenny’s sobbing stopped; she wiped her eyes and face dry and stepped back.  Miss Dinah bent down to the young girl and looked softly into Jenny’s eyes.
“I know we’ll miss each other, my dear.  I miss dear Arthur so much, and I know I’ll miss you too.” She sniffled, but gave Jenny a warm smile. “But I know we’ll see each other again.  Someday, you’ll come back through that gate just as I’m making tea, and you’ll have grand adventures to tell me about, and I’ll have new flowers to show you.”
Jenny managed a bit of a smile of her own. “I’ll bring you back the most awesome flower in the whole wide world, Miss Dinah, and you can plant it right next to Bloggit, and everyone will see it!”
The old woman smiled even wider, wiping at her tears with a faded blue handkerchief. “I know you will.  You’ll always be in my garden, my dear, so long as we don’t forget one another.” She straightened herself up and patted the girl on her shoulder.  Jenny returned the gesture of affection with a tight hug, and a soft kiss planted on the cheek. She waved her final goodbye, and, with a wispy smile on her face, walked towards home, out the gate of her home away from home, the mystical garden of the loving Miss Dinah.

A few days later Jenny and her family arrived at their new home, near the wooded hills on the outskirts of their new town. Their house was in a pleasant neighborhood, with a playground just down the street.  After her family had unpacked all its belongings, Jenny found the tin from Miss Dinah in her suitcase, tucked between her bright red boa and her floppy straw hat.  She inspected the tin closely: it was a simple box, wrought from dark metal of some kind, bearing a brightly polished engraving of a chickadee.  Inside, she found a set of stationary and envelopes, each decorated with little paintings of flowers.  On the top was a slip of paper with Miss Dinah’s address and a short note:
Don’t forget to write!  I’ll read your letters to the sparrows and the frogs, and maybe some Torgs will hear from the brook too!  I’ll be wanting to hear all about your new home, and the new places you discover!  Put your energy into life, and I know you’ll blossom!
         Miss Dinah
Jenny smiled to herself as she read the letter; when she finished, she placed the tin on her bed and took the hat from the suitcase.  Shaking it out, she placed it on her head at a jaunty angle, and then wound the boa around it as well.  She stepped over to the mirror, nodding approvingly at her image, before walking downstairs and out into the bright sunlight, glancing around the neighborhood as she began walking down the street. Jenny would miss the enchanting garden and its adoring caretaker, but her times in that place, with Miss Dinah, would not be forgotten. Her blooms had been trimmed… so now it was time to grow… time for a new adventure. In one of the neighbor’s bushels of plants, a flourishing foxglove bowed under a faint squall; to Jenny, it seemed to be waving its own hello, cheerfully sending forth the greetings of the little garden…