I don't need a special fragrant garden to appreciate the beauty and joy of nature. My fragrant garden is every tree, blade of grass, and flower I see in my daily walks and in my own back yard. As I walk along, I see huge trees, some of them with five or six trunks, and I wonder how long have these trees been standing, when were they planted, and what have they seen? Did anyone receive their first kiss under one of these trees many years ago? Were they once part of a forest of trees? Were some of the trees here before the streets, sidewalks and houses took over? How many families of birds and squirrels lived in these trees? I have to say, I admire the statuesque beauty, grace, and shape of the many trees I've observed and how much they add to the parkways and flower gardens that they lovingly embrace with their long branches covered with bountiful leaves of all shapes and sizes.

As I look at the grass and colorful flowers under the trees, I think about my father and my Uncle Wally, who both loved to plant. We lived on a corner lot, and my Dad planted eight Maple trees on the outside parkway, two in front of the house and six on the side parkway. As a kid, I remember when these trees were first planted, because my friends and I made a game of jumping over the trees. He also planted irises of all colors along the edge of the entire parkway. Inside the yard, he planted two cherry trees, two plum trees, and a pear tree, along with a Snow Ball bush, a vegetable garden, and many other types of flowers. My Uncle Wally and Aunt Gertrude lived on the next block west of us. Their home was set on the back of the lot, so they had a big fenced in front yard. Uncle Wally planted every flower imaginable all around the yard next to the fence. He took great pride in his flowers and often picked a bouquet for me whenever I walked over to their house. I was only four or five years old, but I loved the flowers and am happy to have the fond memories of our yard full of trees and plants and my Uncle handing me bouquets of flowers with a warm, kind smile.

Today, washing dishes in my kitchen is a pleasant task for me; all due to a big window above my kitchen sink where I can look out into the back yard and see my own personal fragrant garden, especially when hundreds of Lilys of the Valley pop up under a humongous evergreen tree at the first breath of spring. Oh, the fragrance, it's magnificent!

She had just returned from across the meadow where she had seen the new young deer her neighbor had told her about. She didn't get a good look, as it was some distance away, struggling on uncertain legs to keep up with its mother.

As she sat resting in her library, she was thinking of how beautiful the meadow was and how fragrant it is this time of the year. She had remembered reading in her flower book that up to twenty-five different wild flowers could be found in meadows in this region during the season. She did not recognize most by name, though many blossoms were familiar. Wild strawberries, apples, raspberries, milkweed, honeysuckle, goldenrod, wild grapes, and asparagus were among those she recognized readily.

Flowers were occupying her mind now and she started thinking about a poem she read recently about bouquets. Now where did she put that? It must be here somewhere on the desk. ... Oh yes, there it is in the pages of a book. She had used it for a book mark. She retrieved it and began to read:

Bouquets Flowers are natures' work of art, Displaying loveliness unique. Of all its wonders, they're apart, Joy waiting there for those who seek. Elegant perfume fills the air, Exciting colors arouse us. Delicate petals demand care, Mere touching would be disastrous. Bouquets are poems written small, Rhyme measured in beauty and taste. Recited by nature for all -- Nature's gift, enjoyed without haste.

As she pondered the truth in the piece, she knew fragrant meadows would be there another day, and poetry for her, a joy forever. But, right now she must start to make dinner for a hungry family.

Every meadow I've ever been to, and I've been to quite a few, has definitely not been fragrant, so I'm thinking I'll have to make up something to get done with this assignment. This will be quite a change for me on account of, as you all know, my stories are generally steeped in guaranteed realism and factuality. I guess I'll just have to venture forth on an unplumbed course and hope for the best. Forgive me if I falter along the way, good people.

Having been just now parachuted from a flying saucer that lost its way, I immediately went over to the real estate agent to see if I couldn't acquire a fragrant meadow, as all us flying saucer dropouts are wont to do when we come upon a new planet unannounced.

"A fragrant meadow is it you're wanting, strange alien creature?" This amazing agent person was apparently not misled by my cleverly-contrived disguise as a people, not by a long shot. I decided on the spot that this was a man I could deal with, realizing happily that he apparently was having no qualms about doing business with a celestial immigrant, as most real estate agents, by my best guess, would have.

"Yes, and I am very loose in the way I define 'fragrant,' as beings from my place of origin differ greatly in the word's interpretation." "That should make my job that much easier, I am hoping. Matters of the size and the location of the meadow have to be determined, of course, before the actual matter of fragrance is properly dealt with."

"Yes, of course," the very agreeable outlander said. "The matter is, however, that these things are of little consequence -- within reasonable limits, of course."

"Come with me. I have something to show you," the estate agent insisted. And with that the two beings, one from here and one from afar, boarded a waiting helicopter and sailed away to who knows where.

After about a month and four days, the journey came to an end, and before the characters of this ridiculous tale lay acres and acres of flawless meadowland. You're hoping, no doubt, dear reader, that this brings to an end my little story, but at least a few more paragraphs are going to be written -- for no known reason -- before that happens.

"This is beyond question one of the most choice meadows I have ever offered to anyone ever before. I offer it to you because I have every confidence that you will be a good and faithful steward. And how do I know this? An inkling tells me so."

"Bully for your inkling is all I can think to say. The meadow looks ideal. There are no noticeable potholes, the bane of many a meadow I've seen on this planet or sundry others."

"I am pleased that you are pleased, and it pleasures me to note that, because we both seem pleased, we can get this matter completed and done with in short order."

"I'm guessing that might be quite possible, but having thus far only seen the meadow from afar, I have not yet had a good chance to determine if it is properly fragrant. Let us pop over and have a closer gander of the property."

"By all means let's, grand old otherworldly chap. And if this suits you, I say we close the deal on the spot and be done with it."

"Well put." And with that, the two wonders of creation made way to the meadow straightaway and without verily a pause.

"Delectable," the inhabitant of the nameless other sphere outputted. "Having had just a cursory whiff, I am convinced that this is the quintessential fragrant meadow I have been seeking for more years than you would probably care to shake a stick at."

"Well then, let us each write on a piece of paper the amount we believe the meadow to be worth, and we can go on from there."

"A brilliant idea." And with that, the two antagonists began putting down on small sheets of paper the sums they thought reasonable.

The two documents were perused by the real estate agent, who hesitated suspiciously before uttering, "It seems to me, dear creature from afar that you must have been using invisible ink, for no figure appears on the piece of paper you handed to me."

"Very observant. I suggest you hand over your bleeping fragrant meadow to me as we stand here and then be off with you."

"But exactly what seems to be the cause of your sudden reversal? After all, the meadow has the fragrance of sweet-smelling foliage."

"'Sweet-smelling foliage,' it may be to you, sir, but from where I come from it smells like alien sheep droppings. It will take me years to make the place habitable, if it can be made habitable at all. That's an end of the matter."

And with those words spoken, the earthling estate agent sheepishly re-boarded his helicopter and returned to where it was he came from, wherever that was, a broken man. Such a sad business, indeed. ©2010 Jamey Damert

There are some beautiful verses in Saint Paul's Book of the Philippians. As I read them, my mind went to a very special picture that came back to me as a very young child. Saint Paul says, in Chapter 4 verses 8 and 9, "Finally, brethren, whatever things are true, whatever things are noble, whatever things are just, whatever things are pure, whatever things are lovely, whatever things are of good report, if there is any virtue and if there is anything praiseworthy --- meditate on these things." These verses are there to help us handle the daily pressures of life, or refusing to worry. For some unknown reason a beautiful picture came back to me. I must have been about six or seven years old at that time. My brother, George, about nine, looking at this beautiful picture. A huge yellow field, just daffodils, no weeds, and no grass. George and I were delighted. We started to scream, laugh and chase one and other in and out of the flowers. Then our Father called out, "Be careful, don't destroy it".

I must tell you how we happened to be there. Perhaps you already know. One of the "foods" on the Greek table is green dandelions before they flower. Even though my parents were very American, they still enjoyed driving out into the country looking for dandelions. At that time about eighty years ago, one could meet the truck farmers at Harlem Avenue -- sort of the end of Chicago. So it was, about four or five times through the summer, we would all get into the car and my father would drive out into the country looking for dandelions. At this particular time Dad went down Montrose Avenue, the end of the street car line at that time was Elston Avenue. My Dad would turn down Elston Avenue. A newly paved street for two cars, going south and going north. The area was open. Farmland and open fields. Dad would find a dirt road, which was hardly ever used, turn into it, and look for fresh dandelions. At times my mother would call out "There, there Jimmy, stop the car." We would all jump out, my Mom, Dad, and my three brothers. They would fill the shopping bag. We would head for home. Mom would clean, wash, and boil the dandelions, put them in a deep platter, and add olive oil and lemon juice with a sprinkle of salt. The dandelions were ready to eat! With feta cheese and home made bread.

In those years meat in the Greek villages was very scares. Olive oil was like a staple. Every food had olive oil in it. A lamb would probably be slaughtered at Easter time. A chicken dinner was also scarce, because they were used for eggs, also a common food.

Thus it is and thus it was whenever I have troubling thoughts I always think of the beautiful field, all yellow with daffodils, refreshing my mind and my heart with my Dad, Mom and brothers, just enjoying.

Last week I stopped to visit an old friend of mine who homesteaded several hundred acres back when this part of the country was open land. I enjoyed these visits. Mostly because I liked the old gent and more than that, I liked the stories he told about 'the old days.' I arrived in the late afternoon and found him sitting on the porch of the cabin he had built. As he described it, "Jes' a settinand a 'rockin'."

I asked if I was interrupting anything and he replied, "Nope, I often come out here at the end of the day when ma chores are done and set a spell. I like the feel of the settin' sun bakin' the ache outa ma bones."

I had a feeling that he was in a talking mood, so I sat next to him and said nothing. "Time was," he continued, "Not too long ago, a day's work didn't bother me. Now I reckon ma years are ketchin' up to me."

"I remember when I first set eyes on this valley some thirty-five years ago. Prairie grass three-foot high fer as you could see. Here and there a tree stood straight and tall. Used to be willows 'longside the crick. A big red tailed hawk was afloatin' in circles lookin' fer his dinner. Sometimes I think I can still see him, but I reckon it's prob'ly his grand kids."

"Like his children mine are growed now. Left the place to set out on their own. It's what they do, you know, foller their dreams. Can't fault 'em. Did the same thing maseif. Oh, they come back at Christmas and the Fourth of July, pretending they miss the place. I know better. They jes' come to see if I'm still gettin' along."

"The evenin' haze settlin' over the fields reminds me of the smoke from the burnin' grass. Burned it on purpose. Best way to get rid of it. Give the earth nourishment. Planted clover in the ashes. Turned the whole five hundred acres into good grazin' land. Cattle fatted up fast."

The oranges, reds, purples and blues of the setting sun was fading now. The breeze has shifted toward the house bringing with it the clean, clear, fresh perfume of the fragrant meadow.

I left then, leaving him with his memories and a way of life to be envied.