A Tree Will Grow In Maine

When I was a kid, we moved 15 times by the time I was 16. Or maybe it was 16 times by the time I was 15. No matter — you get the point. As I grew older, I kept moving, not really understanding that I didn’t know how to settle down in one place. Then, in the fall of 2020, I discovered that the Hamptons community during COVID-19 was not the type of community I wanted to be part of. I moved to Maine on a whim. Wiscasset, Maine. 

Not only did I move to rugged Maine without knowing anyone other than my aunt and cousins who summer there, I also found a home on Zillow after just one hour of searching within a ten-mile radius of where my relatives live, without ever seeing it in person. I also chose the smallest dwelling I have ever lived in: a tiny cottage surrounded by an overgrown garden that I didn’t even notice in the listing.

So I arrived a bit shell-shocked. My friend Louise helped me move some things in the first time I came up, and she, being the positive type of person I irritatingly tend to surround myself with, said, “You’ll make it a home. It’s a beautiful area.” Oh my. I then divested myself of decades of belongings and made the big move just in time for the 2020 election. God bless America.

I have invested a lot in it already. I built a fence so the fabulous Bay can run and bark and enjoy time outside without me. I have painted the inside. I put in a driveway, as parking in mud doesn’t work for me. New carpeting in the bedroom and upstairs office (don’t you love wall-to-wall in a bedroom?) and new counters will arrive in a week or so. 

But it’s the garden. I immediately realized it needed the kind of love that I longed for when I saw “The Secret Garden” on Broadway, and Mandy Patinkin’s rendition of the song “A Bit of Earth.” stole my heart. 

 I didn’t realize it 30 years ago when I saw it, but he was singing to me. “The Secret Garden” is about a girl who doesn’t know her way, but is aware that the life she’s leading is lonely and sad. She ends up with her grieving uncle and sickly cousin in a grand mansion in dreary England, where she finds an overgrown garden that she commits to bringing back to life. In so doing, she finds her purpose, learns to connect to her family, and finds her joy. 

As I write this, I’m struck by my reference to “A Bit of Earth,” which came to mind as I began writing, and I realize that this may have been the missing piece all along.

My garden was overgrown and unattended for a few years, but it was there. I could see and sense bits of it trying to emerge. I have since invested in the same plants I’ve admired in the sensational gardens of other homes I’ve visited, which for some reason were not a part of mine until now. Every single blossom moves me. It feeds me. It is something I tend to with great care. I touch the flowers in the morning when I walk through the garden with my cup of coffee in hand. Even in the wet, frigid months that are a hallmark of Maine, I find myself appreciating my garden, loving it. I once saw a wondrous double rainbow from there that felt like it was just for me. I burned a box of bad things I wanted to shed with my friend Sue under a perfect October harvest moon. I’ve watched so many birds making use of its food. I’ve peeked into the bushes at the perimeter to look inside the birds’ nests, being careful not to disturb them. I have thrown Bay’s toy for her to fetch, watching as she weaves her way through the flowers to return it to me. I felt victorious when my butterfly bushes attracted swarms of monarchs despite my gardener’s warning, “Don’t plant butterfly bushes; there aren’t any more butterflies.” It felt like winning the U.S. Open against Chris Evert.

The other day I read this Greek proverb: “A society grows great when old men plant trees in whose shade they know they shall never sit.” I knew then that I needed to add a tree as soon as spring arrives. I must not waste a moment.

And I realized that as much as I hope to stay here forever and use it as a foundation for personal growth, I likely won’t be around to witness the tree I will plant shading the property and providing respite from the summer heat thirty years from now. I believe a tree is the greatest improvement I can offer to this amazing cottage. For shelter and balance and shade. From a little bit of earth. My hope is that future caretakers will keep the property just the way it is: Tiny. Nurturing. A safe haven for a woman to land after a nomadic life of searching for a peaceful place to rest and become her best self. 

A Bit of Earth

by Lucy Simon

A bit of earth,
She wants a little bit of earth.
She'll plant some seeds.
The seeds will grow,
The flowers bloom,
But is their bounty
What she needs?

How can she chance
To love a little bit of earth?
Does she not know?
The earth is old,
And doesn't care if
One small girl wants things to grow.

She needs a friend.
She needs a father,
Brother, sister,
Mother's arms.
She needs to laugh.
She needs to dance,
And learn to work
Her girlish charm.

She needs a home,
The only thing she really needs
I cannot give.
Instead she asks
A bit of earth
To make it live!

She should have a pony,
Gallop 'cross the moor.
She should have a doll's house
With a hundred rooms per floor.
Why can't she ask for a treasure?
Something that money can buy,
That won't die!
When I'd give her the world,
She asks, instead
For some earth.

A bit of earth,
She wants a little bit of earth,
She'll plant some seeds.
The seeds will grow,
The flowers bloom,
Their beauty just the thing she needs.
She'll grow to love the tender roses,
Lilies fair, the iris tall.
And then in fall, her bit of earth
Will freeze and kill them all.

A bit of earth, a bit of earth,
A bit of earth, a bit of earth.

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