When I was a kid, I loved The Secret Garden. I think I read that book at least 10 times, maybe more. I always wanted a secluded place like that of my own, but I never quite was able to find one.
When I was in late elementary school, I put two boards in the crook of a pine tree (undoubtedly with the help of my dad) on the side of our house, thinking that it would be a reclusive tree house for me. It never panned out like that. It was too high to get to easily, too small to be comfortable, and way too buggy to actually stay out there for long.
When we moved in eighth grade, we found an abandoned shed on our property, and I thought that it could be my secret retreat. But it turns out it was a gross, rotting building that was not where I wanted to spend my time either. Instead, I would go out my window and climb up onto the roof, to overlook the lake on a clear night. THAT was a pretty good thinking spot, though I never did feel completely comfortable popping out my screen and walking on the roof (and Mom, if you read this, no, I certainly would never have walked on the roof...).
After that, in the various places I've lived, I've often found a special spot in the outdoors on nearby hiking trails or somewhere like that, a place to inspire and invoke the majestic sublime. I love those places, and had connections to them, but not ownership of them. I've always wanted my own place.
I am ecstatic to have finally found my secret garden at our house. Of course, it's neither secret, nor a garden, but it's secluded and private and a great thinking nook. It's just a little mowed circle near a fire pit overlooking the flood plain, surrounded by tall grasses. In fact, it's even more wonderful that is surrounded by grasses and not a garden--a garden would mean I would sit there looking at the weeds and thinking of the work I'd need to do to keep it pretty.
All it took was a plastic Adirondack chair, and eyes to see the nook right under my nose.
