Beth Lapin

I was riding the train to NYC, when I decided to reread The Secret Garden, which my (adult) daughter had downloaded onto my Kindle. I vaguely remembered the simple plot, written in 1911 by Frances Hodgson Burnett, and thought it would be entertaining.

 To be honest, I started in a grumpy frame of mind. We’d had some difficult times over the past few months, spurred by the Newtown shootings and several snowstorms, including one that dumped almost three feet of snow at my house,  took me days to shovel out, and left water dripping on the inside of my porch from clogged gutters. So I was perfectly matched with character Mary’s initial sour looks and nasty mood. By the time I was nearing NYC and halfway through, I had followed her to the secret garden, put my hands in the soil, heard the robin sing, met interesting friends, and was immensely cheered. On the reverse trip home, I finished and sat back to say, “Ecotherapy at its finest!”

 For truly that’s the gist of the story. Get out in the fresh air; it will do you wonders, it will heal your physical and emotional wounds, and will bring you great joy! I highly recommend it, available as a free download from Amazon.