The Garden's Secret
Something was about to happen in the garden. The bees had stopped
gathering, and even the flies paused in their buzzing. They could feel
it. Something unusual and unexpected was on its way on that hot day.
The hollow beneath the weeping willow’s canopy provided a perfect hiding place for a red fox. The tree’s whips and leaves hung like an old man’s beard, nearly touching the ground. The fox lay stretched out on his belly in the deep grass beneath the canopy, enjoying the cool, green shade.
The willow grew on a slight rise in the yard. From the base of the tree, the fox had a clear view of the run-down house and garden, which had sat abandoned for years. They became the perfect, safe home for various types of critters. A family of possums made their home beneath the house’s rotting porch and steps. The fox watched Missus Possum with her large family in tow, as she returned from her nightly food gathering.
“Two more, I see,” he chuckled. “I must remember to congratulate Mister Possum at our next pinochle party.”
“So that’s where he spends his Friday nights,” she hissed. “Wait ‘till I get my hands on that lazy loafer. Come, children. It’s time for bed.”
Fox ducked in embarrassment. “I should not have said that,” he said to himself.
He turned his gaze toward the side of the house and watched as a long line of mice entered and exited through a hole next to the crumbling brick fireplace. How many generations, he wondered. Countless, no doubt.
The sleepy fox tried to decide whether he should take a nap. Might as well, he thought.
His eyes refused to stay open. Nothing of consequence ever happened in the garden. The wife and kits were down the burrow where it was the cool.
Nothing to worry about. Nothing to ...
An unexpected sound snapped him out of his sleep. He was startled by the creak of rusted hinges on the old gate near the driveway. The rotted wood released its grip on the screws holding the hinges, and the gate tipped slowly to the ground like a falling tree.
Someone or something is entering my domain. The surprised fox scurried around behind the tree and peeked out to see what danger there might be.
A human girl about five years old pushed her way into the garden. She wore a yellow sun dress discolored with dirt and grass stains. Her bare feet crunched on the broken paving of the pathway. The child’s long golden hair hung in a loose pony tail, tied with a bit of frazzled blue ribbon. The loose ends trailed down her back like a second tail.
The little girl wandered down the overgrown garden path until she came to the willow. She brushed the leaves back like window curtains, stepped inside the coolness of the shade and sat down in the very spot the fox had been using for his nap.
From his hiding place the fox examined her face. She had beautiful blue eyes. But mud trails from flowing tears streaked her cheeks. She was still crying.
Mister Fox was a good family man and his heart went out to her. Why, he wondered, would one so young be this far from home?
The nearest house was a quarter mile away. He knew she didn’t live there. It was the home of a grouchy old man and his pack of grouchy old dogs. The fox was familiar with most of the neighbors nearby, especially those with chickens. But he didn’t remember seeing this small one before. He thought, she must be lost.
The fox had kits of his own about her age in fox years. He wouldn’t be able to live with himself if he did nothing. So, very cautiously, he crept up to her, being careful to stay an arm’s-length away. Once there, he sat down and looked up silently into her tear-stained face.
She looked up and saw him sitting in the grass in front of her. “Oh! Hello, Mr. Fox,” she said. “Is dis your spot?”
“No, no– Please, be my guest,” he said.
It was now her turn to be surprised. “I didn’t know foxies could talk.”
“We talk, all right. We just don’t have much to say. But I must ask, why are you here in the garden? You don’t look familiar. Are you lost?”
“No, I’m not lost. I don’t tink so. Maybe I am. Yes!” And again she broke down into a flood of tears.
The fox stepped closer to her, waited patiently for the storm to subside, then pulled his handkerchief out of his vest pocket and handed it to her.
She dabbed at her eyes with it and handed it back to him.
“Keep it,” he said. “You need it more than I.”
“Danks.” She blew her nose and stuffed the handkerchief into her pocket.
“Why are you by yourself?” He asked. “Do your parents know you’re out on your own?”
“No, I don’t tink so. I ranned away.”
“Why would a little one like you run away?”
“Mommy and Daddy don’t love me no moe. They gots mad and started yelling ad each udder. I left so they wouldn’t shout no moe.” And again, the waterworks began.
Missus Fox poked her head out of the burrow to see what her husband was up to. He saw his mate, and with a movement of his head he motioned her over.
“Fiona, My Sweet. Look at the pretty flower I’ve found in our garden. She’s here all by herself. Do you think she might be an orphan?”
“With a beautiful dress like that?” Mother fox acted shocked. “She can’t be an orphan. Somewhere she must have a momma who loves her very much.”
“No, I don’t. I’m a orf- orlif- orlifant.”
“Nonsense.” Momma fox climbed up into the little girl’s lap. She took Pappa’s handkerchief from the girl’s pocket and began to dab at the blue eyes. Then she licked her paw and wiped away the tear-streaked mud from the girl’s cheeks until they were rosy red.
“I don’t recognize this one,” Pappa said as the cleaning continued. “Do you have any idea who she is?”
Momma tucked the handkerchief back into the girl’s pocket. “I’m not sure. The only house with a little one like this is the yellow one across the wheat field. The poor parents have only one kit. But she looks just like this.”
Three fox kits poked their heads up out of their front door to investigate the commotion. Seeing their parents making a fuss over this strange looking creature with a tail on its head, they came over to investigate.
“What is it, Momma? Is it dangerous? Is it fierce? Will it bite?”
“No, no, children. This is a little human girl, about your age. She’s lost and all alone. Come and see.”
So the fox kits climbed up into the little girl’s lap to meet her and keep her company. Meanwhile, Mr. and Mrs. Fox talked together to decide what to do with the runaway.
“I think the best thing to do,” Pappa said, “is to take her over to the yellow house. If she doesn’t live there, maybe they will know who she is, and take her where she belongs. She can’t stay here, so don’t even think about it. I know you, Momma; you’ll take in any homeless waif.”
So the fox family, along with the little girl, crossed over the fallen gate, walked down the driveway, entered the wheat field, and headed for the yellow house. When they reached the end of the field, they found the girl’s mother and father frantically searching for her. The fox family stayed hidden in the wheat while she ran out into the arms of the humans.
The parents picked up their daughter and hugged and kissed her. As they carried her into the house, they both cried. Mr. and Mrs. Fox cried, too.
“I’m so proud of you,” Momma fox said to her husband, and kissed him on the cheek. “You did the right thing.”
“What else could I do, Fiona?” He replied. “She could have been one of our own.”
The fox parents gathered up their kits and hugged them. Together they returned to their home in the garden, thankful for each other. Their care for the little lost girl would always remain the garden’s secret. The only clue to the truth of the story was the handkerchief my grandmother passed down to me.
The hollow beneath the weeping willow’s canopy provided a perfect hiding place for a red fox. The tree’s whips and leaves hung like an old man’s beard, nearly touching the ground. The fox lay stretched out on his belly in the deep grass beneath the canopy, enjoying the cool, green shade.
The willow grew on a slight rise in the yard. From the base of the tree, the fox had a clear view of the run-down house and garden, which had sat abandoned for years. They became the perfect, safe home for various types of critters. A family of possums made their home beneath the house’s rotting porch and steps. The fox watched Missus Possum with her large family in tow, as she returned from her nightly food gathering.
“Two more, I see,” he chuckled. “I must remember to congratulate Mister Possum at our next pinochle party.”
“So that’s where he spends his Friday nights,” she hissed. “Wait ‘till I get my hands on that lazy loafer. Come, children. It’s time for bed.”
Fox ducked in embarrassment. “I should not have said that,” he said to himself.
He turned his gaze toward the side of the house and watched as a long line of mice entered and exited through a hole next to the crumbling brick fireplace. How many generations, he wondered. Countless, no doubt.
The sleepy fox tried to decide whether he should take a nap. Might as well, he thought.
His eyes refused to stay open. Nothing of consequence ever happened in the garden. The wife and kits were down the burrow where it was the cool.
Nothing to worry about. Nothing to ...
An unexpected sound snapped him out of his sleep. He was startled by the creak of rusted hinges on the old gate near the driveway. The rotted wood released its grip on the screws holding the hinges, and the gate tipped slowly to the ground like a falling tree.
Someone or something is entering my domain. The surprised fox scurried around behind the tree and peeked out to see what danger there might be.
A human girl about five years old pushed her way into the garden. She wore a yellow sun dress discolored with dirt and grass stains. Her bare feet crunched on the broken paving of the pathway. The child’s long golden hair hung in a loose pony tail, tied with a bit of frazzled blue ribbon. The loose ends trailed down her back like a second tail.
The little girl wandered down the overgrown garden path until she came to the willow. She brushed the leaves back like window curtains, stepped inside the coolness of the shade and sat down in the very spot the fox had been using for his nap.
From his hiding place the fox examined her face. She had beautiful blue eyes. But mud trails from flowing tears streaked her cheeks. She was still crying.
Mister Fox was a good family man and his heart went out to her. Why, he wondered, would one so young be this far from home?
The nearest house was a quarter mile away. He knew she didn’t live there. It was the home of a grouchy old man and his pack of grouchy old dogs. The fox was familiar with most of the neighbors nearby, especially those with chickens. But he didn’t remember seeing this small one before. He thought, she must be lost.
The fox had kits of his own about her age in fox years. He wouldn’t be able to live with himself if he did nothing. So, very cautiously, he crept up to her, being careful to stay an arm’s-length away. Once there, he sat down and looked up silently into her tear-stained face.
She looked up and saw him sitting in the grass in front of her. “Oh! Hello, Mr. Fox,” she said. “Is dis your spot?”
“No, no– Please, be my guest,” he said.
It was now her turn to be surprised. “I didn’t know foxies could talk.”
“We talk, all right. We just don’t have much to say. But I must ask, why are you here in the garden? You don’t look familiar. Are you lost?”
“No, I’m not lost. I don’t tink so. Maybe I am. Yes!” And again she broke down into a flood of tears.
The fox stepped closer to her, waited patiently for the storm to subside, then pulled his handkerchief out of his vest pocket and handed it to her.
She dabbed at her eyes with it and handed it back to him.
“Keep it,” he said. “You need it more than I.”
“Danks.” She blew her nose and stuffed the handkerchief into her pocket.
“Why are you by yourself?” He asked. “Do your parents know you’re out on your own?”
“No, I don’t tink so. I ranned away.”
“Why would a little one like you run away?”
“Mommy and Daddy don’t love me no moe. They gots mad and started yelling ad each udder. I left so they wouldn’t shout no moe.” And again, the waterworks began.
Missus Fox poked her head out of the burrow to see what her husband was up to. He saw his mate, and with a movement of his head he motioned her over.
“Fiona, My Sweet. Look at the pretty flower I’ve found in our garden. She’s here all by herself. Do you think she might be an orphan?”
“With a beautiful dress like that?” Mother fox acted shocked. “She can’t be an orphan. Somewhere she must have a momma who loves her very much.”
“No, I don’t. I’m a orf- orlif- orlifant.”
“Nonsense.” Momma fox climbed up into the little girl’s lap. She took Pappa’s handkerchief from the girl’s pocket and began to dab at the blue eyes. Then she licked her paw and wiped away the tear-streaked mud from the girl’s cheeks until they were rosy red.
“I don’t recognize this one,” Pappa said as the cleaning continued. “Do you have any idea who she is?”
Momma tucked the handkerchief back into the girl’s pocket. “I’m not sure. The only house with a little one like this is the yellow one across the wheat field. The poor parents have only one kit. But she looks just like this.”
Three fox kits poked their heads up out of their front door to investigate the commotion. Seeing their parents making a fuss over this strange looking creature with a tail on its head, they came over to investigate.
“What is it, Momma? Is it dangerous? Is it fierce? Will it bite?”
“No, no, children. This is a little human girl, about your age. She’s lost and all alone. Come and see.”
So the fox kits climbed up into the little girl’s lap to meet her and keep her company. Meanwhile, Mr. and Mrs. Fox talked together to decide what to do with the runaway.
“I think the best thing to do,” Pappa said, “is to take her over to the yellow house. If she doesn’t live there, maybe they will know who she is, and take her where she belongs. She can’t stay here, so don’t even think about it. I know you, Momma; you’ll take in any homeless waif.”
So the fox family, along with the little girl, crossed over the fallen gate, walked down the driveway, entered the wheat field, and headed for the yellow house. When they reached the end of the field, they found the girl’s mother and father frantically searching for her. The fox family stayed hidden in the wheat while she ran out into the arms of the humans.
The parents picked up their daughter and hugged and kissed her. As they carried her into the house, they both cried. Mr. and Mrs. Fox cried, too.
“I’m so proud of you,” Momma fox said to her husband, and kissed him on the cheek. “You did the right thing.”
“What else could I do, Fiona?” He replied. “She could have been one of our own.”
The fox parents gathered up their kits and hugged them. Together they returned to their home in the garden, thankful for each other. Their care for the little lost girl would always remain the garden’s secret. The only clue to the truth of the story was the handkerchief my grandmother passed down to me.
(This is a rewrite of a story from two years ago. It will become
part of an anthology of short stories for young people that I'm working
on).
Peace be unto you. Relax and enjoy!
Photo used with attribution and without the permission of http://foxproject.org.uk/fox-facts/
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