My Secret Garden

My first garden was on a fire escape in Brooklyn. I was on the third floor. Outside my bedroom window was a classic iron fire escape—a square platform with narrow steps that could take me down to a neighboring rooftop, where I could reach the stairs of the building behind mine.

On a sunny day, I’d climb out of my bedroom window and sit out there to absorb the sun. I had a washing machine but no dryer, so I would dry my clothes on a clothesline on a pulley anchored to the roofline of the building behind mine. It was a typical life in the 1990s in Williamsburg, Brooklyn.

My roommate had two adorable cats. One Spring, on a whim, I decided to toss some catnip seeds and soil in yogurt containers and grow them in this little outdoor space. It wasn’t long before the seeds began to spout. My little secret garden.

One warm evening, after the sun went down, I had the window open. I was sitting at my computer with my back to the window. I suddenly felt like someone was watching me. I slowly turned around to find a large orange cat looking through the window screen. His face pressed right up on the screen, and his eyes opened wide. He was high—very high—a catnip thief.

And so it went, all summer long. More and more stray cats found their way to my window. At any given time, I could look out on the rooftops around my window and see three or four or eight stray cats stretching and warming themselves on the tarred roof. All stealing herbs from my secret garden. What a wonderful summer we had.

I have continued to garden a little over the years. When I moved out of New York City, I moved into apartments with balconies, and my gardening expanded.

I will still garden in any old container.

My garden journal pages from 2017 & 2018, featuring a big beautiful sunflower. That damn sunflower bloomed while I was traveling in China. I was sad to miss it.

My garden journal from pages from 202,0 featuring lots of vegetables, herbs, and flowers.

My garden journal pages from 2021, featuring our baby cat. He got stung by 3 wasps that year. He ate them.

Now I live in Arkansas, in a home we purchased with my husband’s service benefits—a forever home. My skills are evolving to accommodate what it means to have actual soil on the earth to plant. (No more yogurt cups!) I am responsible for trees and bushes. We have raised vegetable gardens that thrive in the Arkansas sun.

Ducky's bright yellow daffodils. — I have never grown daffodils before. They are busting at the seams, announcing Spring!

It’s a glorious time of the year. The daffodil bulbs I planted in the cold Fall are sprung to life! Our cherry blossom tree has little green buds that will become bushy flowers. Next weekend I will seed a bunch of lavender seeds. (Lavender repels snakes and scorpions. Those bastards want to share the land with me.) Next month comes the herbs, tomatoes, and jalapeños.

A whim becomes a passion. Little plants that depend upon me. I am here for them.

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This blog post is named after a book that changed by life. My Secret Garden by Nancy Friday. A compilation of actual women’s very real and raw sexual fantasies. Published in 1973, her book broke the myth that women do not have fantasies. As a young woman, this book was one of the many books that helped me understand what is natural and normal and find peace with my own sexuality.