When I am at the end of words, I jump on my bike and ride until they come back to me. ~ Patricia Hickman
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The Garden of My Childhood by Jessica Hickman
This essay is part of Jessica N. Hickman's final college portfolio found in her belongings following her unexpected death on April 27, 2001. She received a grade of A. I remember reading The Velveteen Rabbit as a child. The moral of the story, as given by the Blue Fairy, is still vivid in my mind: if you love something enough, it becomes real. Aside from fueling my increasing obsession with fairies, it perfectly describes my grandmother's garden, the garden of my childhood. Many people in many parts of the world rise early every morning to tend to the duties of the day. Some rear children; others trade stocks. My grandmother grew flowers. I remember awakening mid-morning in her oversized bed, and as usual, I would be alone. A garden needs attention as soon as the sun rises. The minute the liquid-gold sphere permeated the sky, she would be up, outside, and on her hands and knees weeding, pulling, planting, and watering. I remember the day she showed me my first ...