Our house was built in the late 1800s; one of the oldest buildings that remained standing in Midland, (a suburb that was amongst the earliest places of settlement in Perth, Western Australia). The garden was very well established, with most of the trees being planted well over 100 years earlier. As kids, we spent so much time playing in that garden, that I still remember it with photographic detail. Every inch of the 3/4 acre block of land, is clearly etched in my mind. I even remember the first day my parents went to look at the house before they bought it. I must have been 4 years old. It was completely overgrown and felt very mysterious, like something from a fairy tale. The little old lady living there, was alone and her husband had died many years prior. She was probably as many years old as the garden itself and quite frail. She wasn't capable of looking after the yard anymore, so it was unkept, and felt a bit like a jungle. After we moved in, my mum slowly cleared all the weeds away, and with time revealed the treasure that lay underneath.
For most seasons the garden was a feast for the eyes, full of flowers of every colour imaginable. There were cream and pink lilies, a lilac tree with brilliant white flowers, purple and apricot bougainvillea, roses of every colour, deep orange nasturtiums, several hibiscus bushes ranging from red, to pink, white and apricot, there were blue, green and mauve hydrangea, a tee tree bush that was shaped like a giant bonsai, a weeping willow tree, many gum trees (of course), helichrysum/everlasting flowers of burnt orange, brilliant yellow, hot pink and burgundy, lavender bushes galore, and herbs of every type.
One of my favourites places to play was in the bamboo grove. Other features and fun corners to hang out in were the old bird cage, a tin shed that was jam packed full of antiques mum had collected, the duck pen, and geese pen. There was a basket ball ring at the end of the gravel covered driveway, and a long patch of lawn directly out back where we would play cricket or practice our handstands and backbends. Sometimes we would even lay on blankets out there at night, just to watch the sky and look for falling stars. With time mum also created lots of little pathways that weaved their way all around the garden landscape. They were paved with old red bricks salvaged from a demolition - I remember she somehow convinced my brother and I that it would be fun to help her break off the mortar that was still attached to them - my hands burned for days!
Best of all, (the icing on the cake), was that we had fruit trees of almost every kind; bananas, apples, at least 5 different types of grape vines, 3 different types of plumbs, loqueats, gooseberries, pomegranites, kumquats, chinese apples, lemons, limes, even a couple of almond trees. When ever the fruits were in season, it was like walking out into the garden of Eden.
At the centre of everything was an ancient mulberry tree. The base was more than one metre in diameter, and its branches stretched out far in every direction providing shelter and shade for a lot of the garden. I always had the sense that this tree was sacred, the grandfather of all the trees in the yard. It had the energy of a wise old man, it was as though there were timeless secrets locked in its trunk and branches. I was certain if I made a wish in its presence it was likely to come true ( and on many occasion, i would climb its branches and do just that).
Now that I am thinking of it, I realise I have a deep connection to that tree. The feeling of the textures of the different branches are still living in the memory of my senses. Much the same as you might feel when you remember the affection of a love that is now lost; the memory of how it felt to hold their hand, a flashback to an embrace from long ago - thats the type of sentimental feeling I have now when I think of climbing that tree and sitting on its branches for hours, pondering life. That tree had a personality, and provided comfort like an old friend.
The tragic end to this story is that once we moved out of that house and sold it, the building and garden were completely bulldozed and the land was developed with about 12 apartments, not a trace of the garden was left. I could cry just thinking about it.
Here's a couple of old photos I dug up. They are not very clear, because they are photos of photos of photos...
The first is a family photo in front of the mulberry tree when all the leaves had dropped. ( mum must be taking the pic) The second is a picture I took for a university photography project, years after the family home was sold. The bricks around the tree are our demolished house :(
I could never bring myself to go past the property once it had been fully developed, and once all the trees had been torn down. It feels like the scene of a crime for me now.
Its funny that this adventure brought back so many memories for me, but the beautiful revelation that I've had, is that the 'secret' magical garden that I hoped to find one day; that enchanted place in my imagination that was full of wonder and mystery, was actually the garden where I spent almost 13 years of my life. I didn't know it at the time, but I had my very own 'secret garden' every day of my growing up life. In a world now where children spend more time on computers than they do outside, and where a lot of houses have no gardens, I feel so blessed to have had this experience. The memories I have there, are an integral part of my growing up, and an important part of who I am today.
R.I.P to every one of the plants, trees and flowers that were once such a big part of my life. Their memory will stay with me forever.
Until the next profound adventure...
NN xx
