Part 28

     My next day off, it's back to the garden, with my sketched-out map in hand. Instead of following the creek along to my old gap in the fence, I break off earlier, and cut through the underbrush in what I hope is the direction of the Mason house. Unfortunately, I'm so used to having use the same path all this time, I'd forgotten what a freaking pain it is to blaze a new trail through woods. That, and those first few trips I made were early enough in the season that the undergrowth was pretty sparse – now, it's nearing the end of summer, and things are growing with a vengeance. I switch my iPod to a more ass-kicking playlist, and crank it up. There are days that even wimpy-little-pacifist me would love to have a sword in hand – I feel like I'm in a fairy tale, where the evil witch has barricaded off the castle she's trapped the princess in.
     Eventually, I catch a glimpse of the ironwork fence, and sigh in relief. Peering through the branches and leaves up ahead, I can just make out a glimpse of the house. I don't think I'm quite at the spot I was shooting for, but it's pretty close. I push on through until I'm beside the fence, which has fewer vines covering it in this area than it does by the creek. Still, there are plenty of other plants trying to grow over and through it, so following along beside the fence isn't much better than the rest of the woods. Luckily, I came out near the tower, so it's not far to the front gate.
     I take a closer look at the ironwork as I come up near the gate, skimming my fingers lightly over it. It's such a gorgeous pattern, I can't imagine what kind of expense you'd have to go to in order to get something like this designed, and made, and installed, over so much ground. I wonder again just how long Meres and Celestine lived here, and were able to enjoy it... did they know these elegant dark swirls and flourishes would stand here so long, still guarding their home and gardens, a hundred years longer than the place would be lived in?
     When I reach the gate itself, I find this section is much more hidden by plant life – the ironwork is a bit more sparse, so I guess the plants were able to just ignore it more? I also realize there are several trees off to my left, both inside and outside of the fence. Frowning, I take a closer one – and then laugh, seeing small green apples forming at the ends of the branches. Apple trees! I remember there was one planted out front, but I guess over the years some of the seeds from the fruit must have grown into trees. It's strange, to think that none of these were here when Evelyn was. It was such a different landscape to her and her family, especially around the house. I remember the night of the fire, how easily I walked over the lawn with her. I didn't think about it then, but thinking back on it now, it was a remarkably well-manicured lawn, and what little I could see of the plants and trees, everything was very neatly trimmed.
     Now though, the house area is overrun, by things they had planted that have flung themselves far past their original boundaries, by things that have sprung up to take advantage of the large empty space where the house once stood. I know forest fires do a certain amount of replenishing for the local plant life, I wonder if house fires do the same? More likely for the Mason house than a house of today though, there'd be so much melted plastic and awful chemicals from a modern house, while theirs had so much wood and other natural products within.
     Looking up as I stand before the gate, I can just make out where the words are wrought. “Longa est vita, amor aeternus est.” Most of the words are obscured by vines and apple tree branches, but I can make out just enough to be sure they're still there. This makes me happier than I would have expected... but I guess it is probably the most direct line I have to the thoughts of Meres and Celestine. I saw them so briefly, and haven't found a single mention of them in any document I've been able to turn up, with the exception of that one lonely photograph. “Life is long, love is eternal.” How long were their lives, after they disappeared from this place?
     I begin to poke around the edges of the gate. I don't even know which side it opens on, or if it opens in the middle, or what. My fingers are stained green and lightly scratched before I've gotten far at all, and I promise myself for the millionth time to remember to bring gardening gloves with me whenever I come over here. I find the hinges first, on the left side. I try to wiggle the gate a bit, and it does seem to move – though it's obviously latched shut someplace, it seems like these hinges at least aren't totally rusted into place. I hadn't thought about that either, until I got here, I should have grabbed a can of WD-40 or something. I'm going to be so frustrated if I've found the gate and everything, but still wind up crawling under or over something to get inside again!
     I head to the right side of the gate, and start pulling aside vines and leaves and things from the ironwork. It's not made any easier by the fact that the underbrush from the woods has grown right up against (and in some places through) the fence, so it's right at my back while I'm tugging away at things. Every time my arm flies back, a vine in my hand having come free, my arm hits a branch or a tree trunk behind me. But eventually, I find another hinge – so the gate must open in the middle. Just my luck, I get to pick vines clear of not just two areas, but three! Goodie. On the bright side, I suppose, that means it's a bit more likely I can get the gate open. If one side is rusted in place, the other side might not be, and I really only need to get one side to open up a foot or two in order to get through.
     Finding the thing holding the gate fast is much harder than finding the hinges. For starters, I'm always miserable at finding the approximate middle of anything. On top of that, I have no idea what height it would be set at. Also, I have no idea what I'm actually looking for! I'm praying it's not a giant-sized padlock, because I will not be able to find a key. No way. I clear about a foot across at shoulder-height before I find the edges of the two side panels to the gate. I shake them a bit – but, no such luck, they're definitely fastened together somehow. It feels like it's lower down though, whatever it is. So I continue working my way down, tearing away the plants running through the small gap between the two panels.
     At about waist-height, I find something different. I lean down closer as I remove the last few bits of grape vine. There's definitely something... well, not really box-like, but a flourished and curved panel, fairly flat, running horizontally. I don't see anything like a lock, but... There! Oh my lord, I am so damn lucky! It's only a little latch, though it's on the other side. It's of a style I've never seen before, but it's the same principle as a hook-and-eye latch, so it's just a matter of wiggling the movable part on the other side out of its holder. I guess they must have saved any weightier locks for the house itself? Though I'm sure they could easily have had someone always watching the door – and anyone coming up the drive would be spotted by someone at the carriage house. Their reasoning doesn't actually matter to me, I'm just relieved it's something I can manage!
     It still takes me awhile to find a space in the ironwork large enough to get my hand through, at the right angle to work the mechanism, which I can't see quite clearly from this side, and while it's not totally immovable or anything, it's definitely somewhat stuck, so it takes much more wiggling than I'm sure it originally did. But I do eventually manage to get it sorted out, and I disentangle my arm with a grateful groan, rubbing my poor contorted arm muscles for a minute before I try moving the gate. It doesn't really want to move, but I can tell that it will! I spend a few minutes clearing away some of the debris near the bottom of the gate – there's a pretty deep pile of old leaves and things that's accumulated up against it.
     Finally, I manage to move the gate a few inches, and I cry out happily. I clear out some more space for it to move, and wedge my arm into the gap, bracing my back and shoulder against the other gate to gain a bit of extra leverage against the one I'm trying to move. Slowly, I get it farther out, feeling the resistance of the weather-worn hinges at every millimeter of motion.
     But oh, it's so worth it, when I've gotten it open enough to step through! I'm able to step onto the Mason's front lawn, through the main gate, with the words of Meres and Celestine overhead as I move into their special place. Also, I am not (as) covered in mud and creek water, which is another major plus.