Ogród w Srebrnym Gaju

Motywu ogrodu nie mogło oczywiście zabraknąć w książce Maud jaką jest Pat ze Srebrnego Gaju (ang. Pat of Silver Bush). Klasyczny, wiktoriański w zestawie gatunków, a nieco wyspiarski w charakterze, podkreślonym wybielonymi przez morskie fale kamieniami na obramowaniu ścieżek. Na skraju ogrodu nie brakuje drzew i krzewów: stare klony, trzy małe brzozy w rogu, topole, dzikie róże przy alejce.

Wszystkie gatunki drzewiaste podobne do europejskich, chociaż rodzime dla Kanady. Zestaw kwitnących bylin zmienny wraz z porami roku. Po raz pierwszy zaglądamy tutaj późną wiosną prawdopodobnie w czerwcu. Kwitną wielkie szkarłatne piwonie, hiacyntowce przy ścieżce, białe narcyzy, żonkile, bratki, orliki, biały bez lilak przy bramie, tawuła (spirea), wonna bylica (zwana przez Judy "chłopięca miłość"). Z późniejszych rozdziałów dowiemy się, że w lecie zakwitają tu dzwonki ogrodowe, maki, czerwone i białe róże, lilie tygrysie i białe lilie św. Antoniego. Pat kocha ten ogródek okazując niezwykłą czułość roślinom, podobnie jak Maud. 

Half an hour later she had put the thought of it out of her mind and was in the garden, bidding the flowers goodnight. Pat never omitted this ceremony. She was sure they would miss her if she forgot it. It was so beautiful in the garden, in the late twilight, with a silvery hint of moonrise over the Hill of the Mist. The trees around it . . . old maples that Grandmother Gardiner had planted when she came as a bride to Silver Bush . . . were talking to each other as they always did at night. Three little birch trees that lived together in one corner were whispering secrets. The big crimson peonies were blots of darkness in the shadows. The blue-bells along the path trembled with fairy laughter. Some late June lilies starred the grass at the foot of the garden: the columbines danced: the white lilac at the gate flung passing breaths of fragrance on the dewy air: the southernwood . . . Judy called it "lad's love" . . . which the little Quaker Great-grand had brought with her from the old land a hundred years ago, was still slyly aromatic.

She recalled the last story she and Bets had read together, of and enchanted garden in which flowers could talk. Just suppose her own flowers talked at night. That red rose in the corner became a passionate lover and whispered compliments to the white rose. That swaggering tiger lily told tales of incredible adventures. The nodding sleepy poppies gave away all their secrets. But the Madonna lilies only said their prayers.

The garden would be so lonely.  No one there to love or welcome the flowers.  The daffodils and the columbines would come up in the spring but she would not be there to see.  The bees would hum in the Canterbury bells and she not there to listen. The poplars would whisper but she would not hear them whispering. The tiny, pointed, crimson buds would come on the wild rose-bushes in the lane, not for her gathering.  Perhaps the people who would come to Silver Bush would root up the old garden entirely.  Pat had heard Uncle Brian say once it was really only an old jungle and Alec should clear it out.  They would change and tear up.  Oh, she could not bear it!

Rozdział XVII ujawnia kolejne rośliny w ogrodzie Pat, tym razem określone zwyczajowymi/ludowymi nazwami angielskimi. "Pink-o'-my-Johns" (lub Pink of my John, heartsease, Johnny-jump-up, love-in-idleness) to fiołek trójbarwny. W kulturze anglosaskiej kwiat używany do sporządzania miłosnych eliksirów. Różne formy tego fiołka były chętnie hodowane przed „wynalezieniem” ogrodowych bratków w 1839 roku. Ciemnoróżowo-białe „sops-in-wine” to rodzaj goździka. Poza tym rosły tu piwonie (które Judy podobnie jak pani Linde nazywa piniami), róże oraz bratki. 

Pat loved watering the garden . . . giving thirsty things drink after a hot day. First of all she always watered Judy's pets . . . the row of garden violets under the kitchen window which Judy called "Pink-o'-my-Johns" . . . such a delightful name! . . . and a clump of mauve and white "sops-in-wine" by the turkey house and the "pinies" by the gate. Then all the other flowers . . . and the roses last of all because she liked to linger over them, especially the white roses with the dream of gold in their hearts and the plot of pansies in a far corner that seemed to bloom for her alone.