The Magical Garden: a memoir

By Hygiene Salamander

Swallowing my final bite of starchy, boiled, new potatoes, I leapt up from my seat and tucked my elaborate chair under the table with a clack. I looked at my relatives, still eating, who were engrossed in an inaudible conversation. I chose to ignore their furrowed brows and pursed lips. All I wanted was to frolic and discover the garden’s mysteries. “May I go outside to play?” I queried, with my most charismatic expression. In response, words of affirmation resounded amidst the clatter of cutlery. A rush of dopamine propagated through my bloodstream as I scampered out of the house, quickly grabbing my precious magnifying glass. The moment I opened the wooden door, the mild evening sun and crisp summer air brought a healthy flush to my skin. Living in a concrete, steel, and bamboo maze, where about 2% of the days in a year actually had pleasant weather, my 2019 trip to Southern Finland was an adventure I longingly awaited.

Although it would be past sunset back in Hong Kong, the neighborhood was bathed in a languid, drowsy light. I strolled outside, admiring my grandparents’ well-kept cottage. The vibrant lingonberry reds of the roof and blueberry blues reminded me of the Moominhouse in one of my favorite stories, The Moomins. Certainly, the nooks, chimneys, and hidey-holes concealed by sprightly green foliage would be a perfect home for a few furry little beasts. The main building was accompanied by friendly sheds containing gardening equipment, a sauna, a jam cellar; really, everything an idiosyncratic seven-or-so-year-old would desire. However, past the inviting residence, there lurked something deep, creeping, and clandestine…

The dewy grasses became thick and tangled, growing wild as they led a path into the unexplored jungle at the end of the property. I gripped my magnifying glass, taking featherlight steps so as not to awaken any sleeping entities - likely what Theodore Roosevelt must have felt like trekking through the Amazon rainforest. I soon arrived at the edge of the copse, turning the corner, venturing into a lush, verdant clearing. It was a habitat for crawling bugs, climbing trees, and camouflaged birds who revealed themselves with distant chirps. The trees stretched tall, their canopy fashioning a makeshift ceiling high above, constructing a remote abode where clocks stood still.

I dashed to sample the numerous bunches of round, chartreuse-colored gooseberries. It was a syrupy, sour burst of energy that awakened not just my taste but my motivation. Just below the drooping gooseberries grew clusters of nearly ripe white strawberries. I recalled when I helped my grandparents pick the exquisite berries, which made the jars of preserves they were stewed into considerably sweeter.

Snapping away from my reverie, I bent over to examine a ladybird. I decided it was a nice insect, holding out my hand to let it crawl onto. With my magnifier, the bug and I were virtually the same size. It had an amicable demeanor, six legs, and glossy, scarlet wings patterned with charming dots. Looking back, the ladybird’s colors seemed far brighter than its true hues. Overcome by a primal urge, I gently sniffed the insect and immediately recoiled. A distinct scent, reminiscent of bitter capsicum and salty roasted peanuts, emanated from the dainty bug, which continued to prance on my palm. Following the cautious nudge I gave the ladybird, it fluttered away in the wind.

With one last glance, I trudged out from the copse and back into civilization. Witnessing my determination to find a creature to befriend, the garden gifted me an iridescent teal dragonfly, flickering just within my field of vision. It stared at me unblinkingly, and I courteously offered a handshake. Frustratingly, the shiny fellow hovered pompously and moved on to better activities - perhaps a succulent mosquito.

With a sigh, I began my retreat to the house; at least I had my trusty magnifying glass. However, on a dusty patch on the ground, calamity struck. There was a large brown ant thrashing underneath a crushing stone; another ant attempted to push the rock over. A chance to gain brownie points with the local wildlife! I hastily made eye contact with the ants, their alarm sending jolts of trepidation through my own nerves. I lifted the pesky pebble, knowing that some deity would just so happen to pass by and reward my benevolence with a golden apple. Swiftly, a biting stab attacked my index finger. I instinctively shrieked and swatted my hand on my other arm, instantly checking my wounded finger. Lingering pain pulsed underneath my skin, but only a faint, pink mark was left. My eyes darted at the ground again. Then at my arm. The pulverized remains of the insect I tried so hard to save were smeared on my forearm, bloodstained evidence for what I had done. Inhaling sharply, I wiped the ant’s corpse off of myself, slamming the door open to announce the sin I committed.

Over the course of the night, the initial shock slowly wore off, but my focus persisted on the day’s events. Lying in my cushy bed, where the only thing I could see was the nebulous darkness in front of me, I was suddenly washed over by a profound wave of realization. Despite my good efforts, my interactions with the insects didn’t occur as planned, resulting in various times where I had to adapt to troublesome circumstances. Despite this, my mind was clear, and I felt like I had gained years of wisdom in just one day. I knew I would be returning to the marvelous garden.

Since that fateful holiday in Tammisaari, the memories of the garden have lay dormant in the depths of my subconscious. At the age of 13, I was too preoccupied with my academics and achievements to contemplate the transcendental events of my childhood. This all changed on an unremarkable evening, when my mother casually hurled a terrible remark at me while I was preparing to unwind for the evening: “I forgot to tell you, your grandparents are selling the house.” My biological processes paused for a moment, breath hitching, as I struggled to comprehend the ramifications of the statement. After a long few seconds, I uttered a noise of confusion, stumbling to my bedroom to ponder.

In my youth, my brain was simply too naïve to understand how much I cherished the rejuvenating, sometimes painful experiences I had with plants and animals. However, it wasn’t until I found out that I would likely never be able to visit the garden again that I recognized how grateful I am for peaceful chapters, where not a hint of an anxious thought occupies my consciousness. In a world that puts productivity on a pedestal, I often find myself wanting to do more and work harder in order to fulfill the illustrious potential my future holds. However, there are times when I am overwhelmed with exhaustion, craving an escape from all of my self-imposed responsibilities. Following my realization, I regularly incorporate undisturbed, solitary walks in parks teeming with natural life, maybe even carrying a magnifying glass. Through its lens, my childhood whimsy and wonder are restored, just for a short respite, bringing back the treasured summers I spent in Finland.