I just finished reading Frances Hodgson Burnett’s The Secret Garden. I’m not sure how I never read this as a child–I’d have loved it. I haven’t seen any of the movies adapted from it, either. The book was initially published in a serial format in 1910, and I can just imagine children having it read to them and eagerly waiting to see what would happen to Mary, Dickon, and Colin next.
Some of the happiest times of my childhood were spent in the rose garden that was part of the orphanage near our house, as well as in my grandmother’s garden. I’ve never had much of a knack for growing things, though both my siblings got our mother’s green thumb.
When I was reading the book, I found myself wishing that all little kids could learn a reverence for the natural world by working and playing in a garden.