There's a Unicorn in my Garden

“The Unicorn in the Garden” is the title of a short story written by famed American humorist, James Thurber, and published in The New Yorker magazine on October 31, 1939. Thurber illustrated many of his short stories, and I have included the illustration he did for this one in this post.

A few nights ago, Keith Olbermann read this story by Thurber on his TV show, Countdown. The story is typical Thurber, tongue-in-cheek humor with a moral at the end, as the main character claims that he sees a mythical animal in the garden. His wife calls him “booby” and phones the police when he continues to insist that the unicorn is still out there. However, when the police arrive, he denies telling his wife any such thing, and the police take his wife to the “booby-hatch.”

However, as soon as I heard the title of the story, I linked it with a personal experience I am going through now. After a lot of doubts, I filed to retire this June after working for forty-two years, most of them in education. Having finally made that decision, it seems to me that there is a mythical creature in my garden, calling me to enter and enjoy a new life in retirement. I know it sounds crazy, but after working and/or going to schools since I was four years old, the idea of not working to support myself is, I must admit, a little strange and scary. We are raised on the Puritan ethic to believe that having a good job and making a good living is the epitome of life, and the only goal worth achieving.

Now, I know what I’ll do today. But what will I do tomorrow? Maybe that’s what the unicorn is asking me.

There’s a Unicorn in my Garden
Christopher Bogart

I noticed something in my backyard
Not so long ago.
It looked much like an animal,
One I should have known.

But somehow it was different.
It had a single horn,
As if its head was giving birth,
And its point was to be borne.

A point that I refused to see,
Or failed to recognize.
I pretended to ignore it.
I’d let it pass me by.

Soon it began to eat the lilies,
Chomping noisily as it ground,
The flower heads between its teeth,
The stems upon the ground.

It stared at me, right in the eye,
As it dared me to ignore
Its consumption of my garden,
The loss of lilies by the score.

I knew their love for virgins
From a medieval tapestry,
But I wasn’t a virgin.
So why come bother me?

Or maybe I was one, in a sense,
For I had never known
That climbing on a unicorn
Might yield pleasure all its own.

There’s a unicorn in my garden.
He seems to want to stay.
And, even if I ignore him,
I know he will not go away.