Oliver’s Secret Garden – Read and Print

By Rachel Dunstan Muller, copyright 2021

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More than anything in the world, Oliver wanted his own secret garden. A peaceful place where he could go and be all by himself, far from his noisy big sisters and brothers. Every day Oliver went out and explored his neighbourhood, first north, then south, then east, then west. Each day he went a little further, and a little further, until finally, one bright spring morning he crawled under some thick bushes, then over a crumbling stone wall – and there it was – the space he’d been searching for.

Once upon a time it must have been someone else’s garden. But now all the shrubs and plants were overgrown, and there were weeds everywhere, and bits of broken pottery and rubbish on the ground. But Oliver didn’t see any of that. Well, he saw it, but in his mind he also saw what the garden could be, if he rolled up his sleeves and got to work. And so, that’s exactly what he did.

Every Saturday morning, and every weekday after school, Oliver hurried to the garden. He pruned the bushes, dug up the weeds, and picked up the garbage. And when the bushes were cut back and the weeds and rubbish were gone, other plants began to come out from their hiding places. A blanket of moss and soft grass. Little flowers that had been overshadowed by the bigger plants. Now that they had light and space to grow, the smaller plants spread their leaves and stretched their stems up towards the sun.

Oliver raked and trimmed and gathered and tidied – until that wild, overgrown garden began to look just like the beautiful, secret garden he’d always imagined. He even discovered a tiny stream that flowed through an opening in the wall on one side of the garden, all the way to another opening in the opposite wall. The two openings had been blocked with old leaves and branches and even a few old tires. But once Oliver cleared everything away, the stream flowed freely again.

The more time Oliver spent in the garden, the more beautiful it became. Even the birds seemed to think so. They twittered and chirped all around him as he worked. They built their nests in the trees at the edge of the garden, and splashed in the tiny stream. Bees and butterflies were the next to arrive; they buzzed and fluttered all around. And just when Oliver thought the garden couldn’t get any better, one day he discovered trailing strawberry plants. Oh, he was thrilled. The tiny strawberries weren’t quite ripe yet, but he knew they would be – soon! And he wouldn’t have to share them with anyone. The secret garden and everything in it belonged to Oliver, and Oliver alone.

One evening, as he was eating his supper, his mother asked: “Where do you go every day, Oliver?”

“Oh, nowhere special,” Oliver said. “Just – around.” It was a lie, of course. The garden was very special, but Oliver was determined to keep his secret – even from his own mother.

But not long after Oliver discovered those strawberry plants, something truly dreadful happened. It was a Friday afternoon, and he couldn’t wait to get to his garden once the final school bell rang. His strawberries had been getting riper every day – but he hadn’t picked them yet. He’d been waiting, patiently, until they were red, and ripe, and sweet as honey – and he was sure that this would finally be the day. He crawled under the outer bushes, climbed over the crumbling wall, and then froze. There was a girl in his garden, in his beautiful, secret garden. Even worse, she was kneeling in front of his strawberries, and her fingers and lips were stained red with berry juice.

Oliver had never been so angry. “This is my garden and those are my strawberries!” he roared.

The girl jumped to her feet. “I’m sorry; I didn’t know,” she said.

But Oliver didn’t care about her apology. “Get out!” he shouted. “Go!”

The girl went as fast as she could. As she scrambled over the stone wall, she turned towards Oliver one last time. The look on her face was sorry, and scared, and also – sad.

Oliver tried to forget about the girl once she was gone. But it was impossible. He couldn’t get her out of his mind. How he’d found her crouched in his garden, eating his strawberries!

But more than that, he couldn’t stop seeing the sad look on her face as she was leaving. And somehow, that sad look made Oliver forget his anger, and instead he began to feel sad as well. What if the girl needed a secret garden just as much as Oliver did? What if she’d been searching for a peaceful place, just like Oliver? And then, when she finally found it, Oliver had chased her away!

Every night for an entire week, poor Oliver tossed and turned in his bed, thinking about the girl. And then, finally, at the end of that week, he had an idea.

The very next afternoon after school, he went to his garden and he picked some flowers. Then he used the petals of those flowers to mark a little trail to the secret garden: from the road, beneath the overgrown bushes, to the crumbling stone wall. And then on the stone wall, he wrote “WELCOME” in white chalk, and drew a smiling flower.

When Oliver was finished, he climbed into the garden himself and waited – hoping and praying that the girl would see the trail of petals, and that she follow it to the welcome on the wall. He hoped and prayed that she would see it, and no one else.

Oliver waited as long as he could before suppertime – but the girl didn’t come.

The next afternoon, Oliver returned to the garden and put out fresh petals– bright pink and yellow and orange. But the girl still didn’t come.

Every day for a week Oliver put out a new trail of flowers – and waited hopefully. He waited in the sunshine, and he waited under his umbrella in the rain. But there was no sign of the girl.

On the seventh afternoon Oliver looked around his secret garden – and sighed. It was still beautiful, but now it felt like it was missing something important – or someone. More than anything, Oliver wished he had a friend to share it with – someone who would appreciate the garden as much as he did.  A bird twittered in a branch above Oliver’s head – but it didn’t make him feel any better. A butterfly fluttered near his face, and he was still sad. Not even the happy sound of the little stream could cheer him up.

But just then, Oliver heard another sound behind him – a voice.

“Hello?” the voice called, a little nervously.

Oliver turned – and there she was, peering over the wall. The girl he’d been waiting for.

“Is it alright if I come in?” the girl said.

“Yes, please,” said Oliver. “I’m sorry I that I yelled at you the last time you were here.”

And so, the girl climbed over the wall.

Her name was Aisha, and it wasn’t long before she and Oliver became good friends – very good friends. Aisha was an artist, and soon the trees were full of her creations – windchimes and ornaments and interesting sculptures. The secret garden grew even more beautiful than before. So beautiful, in fact, that Oliver and Aisha decided it was too beautiful not to share. And so, one by one, they began to invite other children to come see it – the kind who would appreciate such a special place.

Maybe, just maybe, they’ll invite you one day.

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