Birdie's Book - Andrea Burden [6]
“Then there are my year-round herbals—I’ve got some secret recipes for those.” She winked and went on, “Lavender, chamomile, and peppermint. Can you name all of them botanically?”
“Let’s see,” I said, rising to the challenge. “Lavandula, Anthemis, Mentha.”
“Well, aren’t you something!” she exclaimed.
I smiled shyly, but I could feel myself glowing inside.
“Okay, on to the maze!” Granny Mo said.
I followed Mo as she headed down the path, past the spectacular greenhouse. Darn! I thought. I’d been hoping to duck inside. It was now bitter cold as the sun sank to the horizon, and icy snow sprayed off the trees and hills with every gust of wind.
“No time for tinkering today,” Mo shouted, her words trailing back to me in a frosty cloud.
The path rose up, up, up, and I was trying to watch my footing on the icy patches as I followed along. Suddenly I came to a screeching halt. The land plunged into a twenty-foot-deep ravine. There was a wooden bridge connecting my side to the lower land on the other side. Did I tell you that I don’t like heights? I stood there telling myself: You’re not in Califa anymore. You’ll have to get used to ice and all kinds of slippery slopes.
“Come on, Birdie!” Mo called from up ahead. “Just take it slow. One step at a time.”
I reached down and wiped the snow off the soles of my boots. Now I’d have traction. I took a step and grabbed the handrail, which felt very solid. But when I looked down at that ravine, my whole body started shaking.
“Good girl!” Mo shouted, encouraging me. But as she watched, she could see I wasn’t moving. She stomped back over the bridge through the snow like it was nothing and put her hand on mine. “This part of the yard where it drops is called the ‘ha-ha,’” she said. I shivered, not seeing the humor. “In Ireland they use ha-has to keep the sheep in the pasture and out of the garden.” As she talked, I took my gaze off the drop and looked across the bridge. There was a maze of six-foot-tall boxwood shrubs in the center.
“From the house, you can’t see the maze at all, but from this spot it’s visible in all its majesty. What a happy surprise, dontcha think?” Mo asked. “That’s why I call this the Ha-Ha Valley.”
It was majestic, all right. The maze stretched a hundred feet across—a perfect circle of boxwoods with a massive oak tree rising from the center.
“Wow!” I said. I looked at the whole expanse of Mo’s land. As wonderful as our garden in Califa had been, Mo’s garden was what I had always imagined I’d have when I grew up.
“Come on, I’ll point out all the special places as we walk,” said Mo. She pressed my hand on the railing, as if to secure me, then let go and took my other hand in hers. Thankfully, she walked slowly this time. I set each step like I had big monster feet, sinking into the crusted snow. I looked ahead, not down.
“Over there is my butterfly meadow,” Mo said, pointing to a sea of brown sticks in the snow. “Oh, you should see those colors in midsummer! Blossoms and butterflies everywhere!”
I imagined how beautiful it must be. “Can I come back to see it in the summer?” I asked.
“I would love that!” said Mo, squeezing my hand. “You’re doing great. We’re already halfway across. Now look over there, beyond that meadow.”
I took a deep breath. I was doing great. Not needing to hold on to Mo’s hand anymore, I kept up my solid, heavy-footed pace as I looked to where Mo was pointing.
“That path leads to a waterfall,” said Mo. Off in the distance were miles of forests, backed by jagged, glistening cliffs. “You might want to hike up there. All uphill, but worth it.”
Not at sunset, and not in this cold, I thought. I couldn’t even see the waterfall from here, so the hike must be a long one.
“And now look by the apple orchard,” Mo continued as I tried to twist my head backward and keep my feet walking forward, not an easy trick. “That’s an absolutely magical garden.” She leaned back toward me as if she was about to share a deep secret. “In spring and summer, it’s like a fairyland.”
I knocked the snow off the soles of my boots to get more traction, eying the