the three gardeners

By Curtis Manley Rickman, Guest Contributor, admirer of women, and my favorite dragon!

"A beautiful analogy that made us cry when we read it. 
We are the garden."

Once there was a very old, very wealthy man. This man owned many properties and had dozens of gardeners working for him. One day he called in three gardeners.

"Gentlemen," he said, "you are the finest gardeners in my employ and now I have a special project for one of you." 

The men all smiled broadly, for the man was known for his generosity to those who pleased him. 

"I have a garden that has not been tended for many years." 

His voice took on an unusually serious tone. 

"This is the garden where I played as a boy. It is the garden where I had my first kiss and it is the garden where I intend to die and be buried." 

The men shifted nervously. Certainly they had known that this man would die and that it would not be long, but the subject seemed to make them far more uncomfortable than it did the wealthy old man. 

"You have all done great work, and so I have selected the three of you to submit plans for this garden's restoration." 

The gardeners began to look more eager at the old man, but also a little wearily at each other. 

"The payment for this job is simple. I have no family, so upon my death, you will inherit my Estate. All that I have will be yours." 

While the man completed this proclamation with ease and grace, the gardeners showed no such composure. They looked at each other with amazement, which quickly turned to distrust as avarice set in.

The men were all given a computer with a rendering of the garden on which to design its restoration. They all set to work and after a few weeks, they had all completed the project.

As the three gardeners stood around nervously, the wealthy old man approached the first computer and began to browse the gardener's design. The gardener, whose design it was, could barely contain himself. 

"As you can see," he gushed, "I studied all of the great gardens of Europe!"

"I can see that," replied the old man, not a bit of discernible emotion leaking from his wrinkled old face.

"I'm sure you can see the influence Versailles had on the design!" The first gardener continued in a slightly more desperate tone, hoping to get some sign of the old man's approval.

"Indeed," said the old man. "That was evident immediately."

The first gardener continued like this for some time, explaining how he had removed the gnarled old tree with the broken branch and graffiti and how he had selected the fountains to be 'reminiscent of classic styling, but decidedly modern in their sensibility,' all the while sounding more and more desperate as the old man continued to show appreciation for the amount of research and work the gardener had done, but maintaining a resolute silence about his actual judgment.

When the old man had finished with the first design, he thanked the gardener graciously, as was his way, and continued to the next design.

"My design is a bit more . . . modern," began the second gardener, who was clearly worried about his design after seeing the first gardener's proposal. "I didn't do quite as much . . . redesigning as my colleague did . . ." 

The second gardener's discomfort was painful to all who watched, but the old man maintained a stony silence as he perused the proposed modifications. 

"As you can see, I left the tree, but removed the broken branch and cut down the ratty old tire swing . . ."

Every sentence trailed off; the second gardener was clearly quite rattled. Again, as he had with the first gardener, the old man was gracious in his praise of having worked so hard, but gave no sign of approbation.

As he approached the third computer, instead of addressing the design, he first took a long look at the third gardener, who was remarkably unshaken. The old man looked sternly at him and said, "I am told by my staff that you were the first one finished and by an unseemly large margin." 

The third gardener quietly nodded as the other two gardeners marveled at how he could be so cam and how he could have thrown away such an opportunity.

"And, that you spent a considerable amount of time talking to the other members of my staff."

Again, the third gardener simply nodded and smiled. Clearly he was not afraid of what he had done. The old man, no stranger to negotiations, allowed a silence to fall over the room and simply stared at the gardener, waiting for him to break.

Maintaining a maddening smile, the gardener bent over and jiggled the mouse so that his design appeared on the screen. The other two gardeners stood aghast at this implied command to inspect his work. Clearly, they thought, this man didn't just want to blow this opportunity, but wanted fired altogether.

The man was silent as he stared at the screen and, unlike the other two, the third gardener stood silently, allowing his work to speak for itself. After a few moments of taking in this scene of apparent self-destruction by their peer, the two gardeners noticed first, the design, which was amazingly sparse looking—like little more than a cleaned up version of the original garden.

The second thing they noticed, however, was far more alarming. This stolid old man was weeping like a baby. Completely taken aback, the two gardeners looked at the third. "But . . . you didn't really DO anything!"

With a calmness that set him apart from everyone else in the room, the third gardener pointed to the screen. "I added this paved path for a wheelchair and added these markers." He pointed to several small markers sticking up unobtrusively from the ground.

Hoping to score points to make up for his lack of creativity, the second gardener turned on the third. "So, you cleaned up some garbage and pulled a few weeds, and you think that this was enough to merit this man's fortune?"

"Yes," said the third gardener, and as both the others drew a big breath to start what would no doubt, have been a tirade for the ages, they were cut short by a single word from the wealthy old man—his first word of judgement on any of the designs.

"Yes," he said through teary eyes.

As the two gardeners stood speechless, the old man pointed to a marker under the gnarled tree with the broken branch and the graffiti carved into it and asked, "What does this say?"

Without looking at the computer, the gardener recited, "May 5, 1945—Broke Johnny's arm after I thought he pushed me out of the tree."

The old man's tears started afresh.

"Why would you do that to him?" the first gardener screamed. "Look, you've made him cry!"

"I MADE ME CRY!" The normally soft-spoken old man was louder than anyone had ever heard him be. "He was such a great ball player. I ruined his chances of every playing professionally," he sobbed unashamedly.

"But . . . why memorialize a stupid mistake??"

"Because it happened." 

The old man regained a bit of composure, but his remarks, while quiet, again carried a weight that clearly indicated their import.

"We were out on that branch and I started to slip. Johnny tried to grab me, but accidentally pushed me and in my effort to stop myself, I leaned out too far and the branch snapped." 

He paused. The emotions were old and deep. "I beat him with that branch and broke his arm."

The old man began to weep again.

"I've build three hospitals and they all bear at least a portion of his name. He forgave me years ago, but I have never forgiven myself."

They all stood in silence for a moment and then the old man pointed to another marker and asked, "Is this the graffiti?"

"It says: 'A.S. are the initials of Ann Shermer, with whom I made love here in 1947 and married here in 1948.'"

The gardeners bowed their heads, resigned to their fate.

"You see, gentlemen, there was nothing wrong with this garden but some neglect and inevitable damage that comes with life. All this garden needed was someone to see the beauty of it and clean some of the weeds and garbage that had hidden its treasures. This man alone saw its true beauty and this man alone will claim the prize he so justly deserves."

Copyright © 2015 by Rent's Due Publications

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