Miranda's Botanical Garden

It was all in a dream. The dream which existed for 5 consecutive days conjured the most agony Miranda had ever experienced. She was mourning the loss of her mother. A mother that was stoic and quite shrewd but was the most important being in her life. As an only child, Miranda’s mother instilled the importance of expressive writing and time management, things Miranda failed miserably at. She would do anything for her mother but could not get over the fact her mother’s sudden death left her with no further instructions on life. Her mother was Meredith Ladson, an orator, accomplished author, and scholar. It was much to live up to. Although free from her mother’s discernment, she now desperately craved answers to questions she had never imagined asking. Not one heirloom remained. There were no photos or handwritten notes that Miranda could cling to. Her mother’s home and belongings were ravaged in a fire just weeks before she succumbed to an illness. At 30 years old, Miranda had not become an Attorney, an amazing writer, nor any profession that aligned with her mother’s expectations. She was unmarried and childless, but she exuded love. Miranda loved people, nature, and she lived haphazardly in a way that frightened her mother but was beautiful. Unfortunately, Miranda’s free spiritedness did not prepare her for losing the only constant in her life.

In the dream, Miranda’s mother holds open an empty little black book. She repeatedly asks Miranda for an entry. “What was today’s objective Miranda?”. Her mother’s inquiry gets louder as Miranda perspires in fear. With every unfavorable response, Miranda’s feet slide closer to a large bottomless pit. The dream was not farfetched. It was riddled with remnants of Miranda’s own childhood. Her mother gifted her with a little black book when she was 14 in hopes that she would start her high school career planning each day. Miranda’s mother expected her to be a novice in time management yet had high hopes. Miranda instead spent many mornings doodling the botanical garden that she would someday own. For months, the little black book remained empty. Not even Miranda’s name graced the ivory pages. Her mother would occasionally open the book to check for entries. Miranda would pick up the book from the coffee table in the living room and carry it into the kitchen with the intention of planning her day at breakfast. Despite her mother’s best efforts, Miranda was determined to do as she pleased. In the evenings, Miranda’s mother would return the little black book to the coffee table. She would let out a sigh of disappointment and continue up the stairs to her room.

When it was time for Miranda to venture off to college, her mother made one final attempt. She slipped the little black book in Miranda’s bag and urged her to make an entry for her first day. “Just one entry for your mother please”. Miranda smiled and nodded in agreement, only to leave the book practically empty for another 12 years. While Miranda’s Environmental Science degree required much writing, none of the writing took place in the book. Although it remained barren, the little black book followed Miranda everywhere she went. It could be found on the coffee table in every place she called home. The book was durable. It seldom collected an ounce of dust. It completed the room. Over the years, it became quite the conversation piece. Miranda’s closest friends referenced the book often. Her best friend Pennie even offered to take it off her hands, but Miranda ripped the book right from her arms. On one rainy day in her late 20s, Miranda decided to finally write her name in the little black book. It was not until her mother’s funeral and the 5 consecutive nights of agony that Miranda decided to write her first entry.

Miranda was never fond of working in professional settings. Her jobs were rarely in offices. She preferred working in Floral Shops, greenhouses, or any opportunity to be one with nature. Although nature was her passion, it did not afford her stability. Miranda moved many times as an adult due to rent increases and loss of income. She moved in with her mother a few times as well. While her mother enjoyed the company, she began to show more disdain for Miranda’s lifestyle in her old age. Meredith secretly worried that her only child could not survive on her own and would ultimately tarnish her legacy. Miranda never admitted aloud, but she was constantly in fear of her future. Pennie could not have come to Miranda at a better time. Just days after the funeral, Pennie had become an executive at the local organic mill. She took it upon herself to speak with her colleagues about Miranda. Miranda was offered an interview that she could not refuse. The new job allowed Miranda to cover living expenses and explore the dreams that her mother once referred to as trivial. Miranda brought her little black book to work following the 5th consecutive dream. As she sat at her desk, she began to write. Miranda successfully planned her entire day. Overwhelmed with emotion, she could not help but to think of her mother. As a single tear made a trail down her face, she continued to write.

On the 3rd day working for the mill, Miranda was already becoming bored with work. She could not stand another day drafting letters to send to various merchants. Her passion of opening her own botanical garden as a refuge for sick children was taking over her every thought. While she did not want to disappoint Pennie, Miranda lived by different principles. Miranda believed that people and the planet were more important than profit. She had grand ideas about changing the world which were always met with skepticism. Thinking of her mother, Miranda decided to keep her job through the week and continue writing. On the 5th Day, Miranda arrived at work greeting everyone in her path as usual. She had come to the realization that her agonizing dreams were no longer. Maybe this was a sign her work was done, she thought. Little did she know her work was just beginning. As she opened her little black book in preparation to write her 5th entry, she noticed something was under the page. She flipped over the page in the book only to find a finely folded check and a note. The check was in the amount of a staggering $20,000. On the check was a memo that read “Miranda’s Botanical Garden”. The garden was a dream Miranda held on to for most of her life. It was also a dream that her mother was more than fond of. Miranda could hardly contain her emotions. She was not happy, instead she was rather sad. For 16 years, her mother hid her inheritance in plain sight. For 16 years, she occasionally held $20,000 in her hand only to sit it back upon the coffee table.

Miranda ignored her mother’s wishes only to focus on a dream that her mother was preparing her for the entire time. The fulfillment that would have come from Miranda’s mother could only be imagined. She was unable to live to see the day Miranda made her 5th entry. The note in the little black book read:

My Dearest Miranda:

There is something about us Ladson girls. I knew you would not open this book until you were mature enough to handle the responsibilities that your dreams would bless you with. While I hope you are not 40 years old as you read this, I am sure you are no longer living in my home. With that said, I would love for you to come over and meet me for lunch. I would like to reveal how Miranda’s Botanical Garden sounds a lot like Meredith’s Botanical Garden did when I was a little girl.

Miranda spent the following few days writing in solitude. She did not necessarily plan her day, but she did plan her future. She now wanted to fulfill more than just her dream. She wanted to fulfill the dream of her mother. By the end of the year, Miranda’s little black book was just about full. She had a team of amazing people seeing that her botanical garden was a reality. Miranda realized that even being a free spirit required a little bit of planning. The completion of the little black book became a rite of passage for her. Miranda no longer allowed herself to miss opportunities. She turned over every page in every book she owned. She maximized each day as if it were her last and finally, she purchased another little black book.