Esme and the Garden That Grew Backwards

Aunt Hester had a garden that grew backwards.

Esme noticed it the first morning of her summer visit. The roses were big and full and red. By the afternoon, they were smaller. By the next morning, they were buds again. By the morning after that, they were just stems.

"Aunt Hester," said Esme, "your roses."

"Yes," said Aunt Hester, weeding patiently.

"They're going... backwards."

"Yes."

"Why?"

Aunt Hester sat down on her green-painted bench. She had a glass of cold water with mint in it.

"Some gardens grow forwards. They give you tomatoes and beans and potatoes. You eat them. They are gone.

"Some gardens grow backwards. They give you flowers, all the way to seed, and then the seed packs itself back into the earth. You don't get to keep anything. But you get to see it.

"My garden is the second kind."

Esme thought about that.

"It seems like a waste."

"It is, perhaps. Or it is the opposite of a waste. I think a lot about this. I am still deciding."

For the rest of the summer, Esme watched. She watched the apples in the orchard go from full red apples back to small green knots, and then to blossoms, and then to nothing. She watched the sunflowers tower and then shrink, all the way down, until they were yellow seeds in a tin can on the porch.

She felt sad sometimes. She felt a strange happiness too — because she had seen the apples. She had seen the sunflowers. She hadpaid attention.

On her last day, Aunt Hester gave her a small jar.

"What is it?" said Esme.

"A handful of garden seeds. They will not grow forwards in your mother's garden. They will not grow backwards either. They will just sit there, looking ordinary."

"Then why?"

"Because some things you keep are reminders, not gifts. You remember that you saw something true."

Esme kept the jar on her windowsill her whole life. The seeds never sprouted. They never had to.