This story is an allegory of the LOVE>hate Project’s initiating event, the murder of Jessie Blodgett. An allegory is a metaphorical story that reveals a hidden meaning. Nancy is Chairwoman of the Board, and has been a Director for six years. She had many deep conversations with Jessie, who was school friends with her boys. She wrote this in 2012 while wondering how to reach young children with our message.

A man and a woman received a special gift on their wedding day: a packet of seeds. The kind older lady who gave the gift, whispered to them, “Plant these in your garden and they will bring you lasting joy.”

When springtime came, the man and his wife did just that! They prepared the soil, planted the seeds and sprinkled them with water and love. The sun shone on their little garden and soon beautiful things began to grow.

There was one special flower right in the center of the garden which stood out among the rest. It had dark, glossy leaves and pink flowers that were vivid and bright. Her name was Fuchsia. She had a sweet fragrance and a happy heart. Her beauty drew lots of attention to the garden.

All day, every day, the plants would bask in the warmth of the sun. They would send out their roots and drink cool water from the earth. Butterflies and bumblebees would visit and collect pollen. Fuchsia would laugh and lead the others in singing. Her happy songs and lovely fragrance were carried by the wind.

The man and his wife would often sit under the shade of the old oak tree and enjoy their beautiful garden. They would sip lemonade and talk. What a peaceful, happy way to spend their summer days!

Sometimes the man would notice weeds creeping in among the flowers, or that the soil was getting hard and dry. He knew what had to be done then. “The weeds must go,” he would say. “They will choke our lovely garden; they will harm our lovely Fuchsia.” He would go to the shed and bring out his trusted gardening tool, the “Digger.” Digger had a long handle made of wood and a sharp iron blade. The man would dig, dig, dig and chop, chop, chop. Soon enough the soil was soft and loose again and those pesky weeds were history. It was hard work, but it made the little garden thrive and kept Fuchsia looking vibrant and healthy.

News of the charming little garden and Fuchsia’s beauty began to spread. Soon people from all over were popping up and popping in to get a glance of the garden and lovely Fuchsia.

The man and his wife worked extra hard to keep the garden looking its best. Digger was used on a regular basis. Everyone was happy; everyone except Digger. He began to feel jealous. “It’s not fair,” he snarled. “I do all the work and you get all the attention and praise. If it weren’t for me, you would only be half as lovely, but no one comes to visit me or take my picture,” he scowled at Fuchsia.

Anger seethed inside him. It caused his wooden handle to bulge and splinter; it made his iron begin to rust, but no one noticed.

All the plants in the garden did try to comfort him. They told him that everyone had a unique and special purpose in the garden. They assured him that he was loved and needed and appreciated, but he would not listen.
His anger grew.

“I will get rid of the Fuchsia plant,” he thought. “Then everyone will notice me!”

Late one night while everyone slept, Digger set out to destroy Fuchsia. With silent determination he made his way to the garden where all the plants were resting peacefully. Again and again he struck at her, breaking off the glossy leaves and destroying her beautiful petals. “Stop, please! You are hurting me!” Fuchsia cried. But he would not stop. He kept on until everything was destroyed, even her roots.

All the other plants were stunned and horribly sad; they wept and mourned in silent vigil for their beautiful friend.
In the morning light, there lay Fuchsia: her leaves wilted, her petals destroyed. How sad were the man and his wife!
The whole town grieved. Their sadness lasted many, many days. No one knew what had happened. It was a mystery. They were very, very sad.

Digger tried to take Fuchsia’s place. He tried to make the plants like him; he tried to make them laugh. He tried to get them to sing, but they would not.

Soon he became very angry. “Do as I say!” He commanded the other plants. “I have destroyed Fuchsia! Now, I shall be great and I shall be famous! Soon everyone will notice me,” he cried.

Just then, the wise old oak tree, who rarely spoke, cleared her throat. “Oh, really?” she exclaimed. When she spoke, her voice thundered, her leaves shook, and everyone cowered at her voice. “How foolish you are Digger! Beauty and love cannot be destroyed. Not ever! They merely change form. Wait and see. You have not destroyed lovely Fuchsia—you have set her free.”

Digger was silenced; he returned to the garden shed where he remained inside.

Many days went by. The wind blew. The rain fell. The sun shone. Everyone missed Fuchsia.

One day the daisies noticed several new plants growing in the garden; their leaves were dark and glossy. Then the rosebush spotted patches of brilliant pink flowers along the fence, near the gate and in the neighbor’s yard. New plants began to bloom everywhere! Once again the air was filled with lovely fragrance, and the sounds of laughter and singing could be heard as they traveled on the wind. The other plants looked at one another with joy and delight. “Of course! Seeds! The old oak tree was right!”

Digger did not destroy Fuchsia! Beauty and love can never be destroyed. Instead he released the seeds she held. They were carried by the wind to new places, where they took root and grew. Her joy, her laughter and singing, her lovely fragrance…all of these were multiplied!

As for Digger, all that bitterness caused his blade to rust off completely. His handle continued to bulge and splinter until it completely disintegrated. One day the man went to look for Digger, but all he found was a pile of woodchip mulch and a rusted blade. The man spread the mulch throughout the garden. It did help to keep the weeds away.
One day, a little flower plant, one of Fuchsia’s many offspring, peered down at the woodchip mulch. The color was familiar; it was the same as Digger’s handle. For a long while she was quiet and thoughtful and sad.

…Then she whispered, “I forgive you.” Suddenly, she felt free and happy. She sang her joyful song and released her lovely fragrance; and they were carried by the wind.

Violence and anger can make someone seem powerful at times, but it is a false illusion. In the long run, they will never cause anyone to prosper. But the real point of this story is that beauty and love can never be destroyed, only transformed…and LOVE will always be greater than hate.