My Tara ...

Every kid has a secret garden, even if it only exists in their own mind. Luckily, my secret garden really did exist. It came in the form of acres upon acres of land surrounding our home in the country.

It wasn’t really a secret garden. Secret garden sounds so British, so flowery with high walls and secret doors with secret keys. My secret garden wasn’t like that. It was more like a 70 acre Hollywood backlot. Probably MGM’s backlot where musicals and high adventure reigned supreme. It was all my land – my Gone with the Wind Tara land. As God as my witness, it was mine and mine alone.

There was a path behind our house. A 14 year old worn path. A path that wound its way from our back gate, through tall dried grass, around bush after bush of scraggly shaped Scotch broom with pea pods that snapped, crackled, and popped in the summer heat.

The path led me back to an abandoned gravel pit. I wore a short cotton sleeveless sundress with my clunky, calf-high, black leather boots. I loved my boots. I wore them come winter, spring, summer or fall. I knew, even at the age of seven, that real adventures only happen when you wear boots. It didn’t matter that it was 85 degrees out – you can’t be an explorer without wearing boots.

I’d climb down into the bowl of the gravel pit, sit down, slip off my boots and plunge my bare feet into the soothing warmth of the heated pebble sized gravel. Somehow, I instinctively understood that sometimes explorers needed downtime, too.

Some days my path would lead me all the way into Sherwood Forest. I don’t know where my fascination with Robin Hood came from, possibly those Errol Flynn “Adventures of Robin Hood” movies or maybe Frank Sinatra and his 7 Hoods. I’m not sure, but my mom noticed my fascination. Being a first-rate seamstress, she made me a Robin Hood outfit, Errol-style, not gamblin’ Frank-style. It came complete with pointy green cap and feather, a green thigh-length tunic, green tights, my black boots - of course, and the coolest part – my own long bow and a quiver full of real arrows that I slung across my back. I followed my path deep into my forest of Doug Firs where I found endless ways to take from the rich, give to the poor and also become the hero.

One of my favorite TV shows growing up was “Combat!”. Every week I’d tune in to watch Vic Morrow take on World War II as he and his unit fought the good fight. So, at times, my path led me back to Nazi Germany. Once again, my mom came through. She didn’t sew me an Army outfit this time, she bought me one.

In my green fatigues and Army boots, with BB gun in hand and canteen strapped to my belt, I crawled in, out of, through, and around my Tara, which was now located behind enemy lines. Scotch broom during the winter snows made for the perfect soldier’s hideaway. An umbrella of snow clung to the broom’s branches keeping me hidden and safe – at the ready to ambush any passing Nazi on patrol. 

One of the last treks I took down my path landed me on the moon. It was the summer of 1969. The moon landing had captured my imagination. I wanted to be an astronaut more than anything else in the world. The stars, the planets, the moon – they all called to me, as did the really cool gear. I put on my brother’s ski pants, jacket and boots – of course the boots – and my drug store plastic space helmet and went on an excursion to the gravel pit - aka the moon. Once I arrived, I took off my backpack and very slowly (slowly because you know there’s less gravity on the moon and you move much slower) and collected my moon rocks … placing them in my pack for the walk home. My love of space exploration stayed with me. I never did become an astronaut, but I did become an explorer of the skies – I became a pilot.

Today, my Tara is no longer mine alone. When my mom died in 1987 we sold our house along with our five acres. We were no longer the only folks living on our country road. Families moved in, more developments were built. Part of my Tara became a Little League baseball park and the rest of it – people fought for years to keep the land, my backlot, undeveloped. I helped them fight that fight. As I listened to others talk about my Tara I wanted to say, “This is my secret garden, my backlot – my history. I was the first one here. Do you know how sacred this land is? Do you know how much it has given to me? How it helped forge who I am today? How all my dreams began here?  My adventures, my connection to nature, to land - it all began by walking my path and wanting to do good things in the world…wanting to be the hero.

Last year I walked my land for the first time in fifty years. It had been that long since I took my trek to find my warm, soothing pebbles. I could still feel her. It was still Sherwood Forest. I was still Robin Hood. Still growing were the scraggly, snow laden Scotch broom of Nazi Germany and I still wanted to fight the good fight. Every adventure I ever took as a kid, it was all still there. And secretly, I knew … my Tara remembered me and welcomed me home.