Lucy, Noir. Profiles: The Secret Garden

I call it a secret garden, referencing a favourite childhood book. A bus ride to the outskirts of Warsaw. A walk across a parking lot to a tall locked gate. A long walk through a lush path with shrubbery pressing through the gated lots on either side. Arrival at a nondescript green gate. This is where I found a little paradise; my dear Aunt's garden.

Allotment gardens are very common in Poland and other European spots. My aunt comes here by bus every weekend in the summers and sometimes stays in the small shelter on the property. I never knew of the existence of this place. It was a gem. I saw instantly that it was a place that my father would have loved, and had likely even been to on his returns to Poland. But all I have of him now is the glimmer of cheekiness in my Aunt's eye, identical to his, as she showed me around proudly and described this wonderful place to me. It was serene and peaceful, and its age and wear added to its air of mystery and solitude.