GREAT deal is written about the flower-garden that fronts the street, or is so located that it will attract the passer-by, but it is seldom that we see any mention made of the garden in the back-yard. One would naturally get the idea that the only garden worth having is the one that will attract the attention of the stranger, or the casual visitor.
I believe in a flower-garden that will give more pleasure to the home and its inmates than to anyone else, and where can such a garden be located with better promise of pleasurable results than by the kitchen door, where the busy housewife can blend the brightness of it with her daily work, and breathe in the sweetness of it while about her indoor tasks? It doesn't matter if its existence is unknown to the stranger within the gates, or that the passer-by does not get a glimpse of it. It works out its mission and ministry of cheer and brightness and beauty in a way that makesit the one garden most worth having. Ask the busy woman who catches fleeting glimpses of the beauty in it as she goes about her work, and she will tell you that it is an inspiration to her, and that the sight of it rests her when most weary, and that its nearness makes it a companion that seems to enter into all her moods.
Last year I came across such a garden, and it pleased me so much that I have often looked back to it with a delightful memory of its homeliness, its utter lack of formality, and wished that it were possible for me to let others see it as I saw it, for, were they to do so, I feel quite sure every home would have one like it.
"I never take any pains with it," the woman of the home said to me, half apologetically. "That is, I don't try to make it like other folks' gardens. I don't believe I'd enjoy it so much if I were to. You see, it hasn't anything of the company air about it. It's more like the neighbor that 'just drops in' to sit a little while, and chat about neighborhood happenings that we don't dare to speak about when some one comes to make a formal call. I love flowers so much that it seemed as if I must have a few where I could see them, while I was busy in the kitchen. You know, a woman who does her own houseworkcan't stop every time she'd like to to run out to the front-yard garden. So I began to plant hardy things here, and I've kept on ever since, till I've quite a collection, as you see. Just odds and ends of the plants that seem most like folks, you know. It doesn't amount to much as a garden, I suppose most folks would think, but you've no idea of the pleasure I get out of it. Sometimes when I get all fagged out over housework I go out and pull weeds in it, and hoe a little, and train up the vines, and the first I know I'm ready to go back to work, with the tired feeling all gone. And do you know—the plants seem to enjoy it as much as I do? They seem to grow better here than I could ever coax them to do in the front yard. But that's probably because they get the slops from the kitchen, and the soap-suds, every wash-day. It doesn't seem as if I worked among them at all. It's just play. The fresh air of outdoors does me more good, I'm sure, than all the doctors' tonics. And I'm not the only one in the family that enjoys them. The children take a good deal of pride in 'mother's garden,' and my husband took time, one day, in the busiest part of the season, to put up that frame by the door, to train Morning Glories over."
In this ideal home-garden were old-fashioned Madonna Lilies, such as I had not seen for years, and Bouncing Bets, ragged and saucy as ever, and Southernwood, that gave off spicy odors every time one touched it, and Aquilegias in blue and white and red, Life Everlasting, and Moss Pink, and that most delicious of all old-fashioned garden flowers, the Spice Pink, with its fringed petals marked with maroon, as if some wayside artist had touched each one with a brush dipped in that color for the simple mischief of the thing, and Hollyhocks, Rockets—almost all the old "stand-bys." There was not one "new" flower there. If it had been, it would have seemed out of place. The Morning Glories were just getting well under way, and were only half-way up the door-frame, but I could see, with my mind's eye, what a beautiful awning they would make a little later. I could imagine them peering into the kitchen, like saucy, fun-loving children, and laughing good-morning to the woman who "loved flowers so well she couldn't get along without a few."
You see, she was successful with them because she loved them. Because of that, the labor she bestowed upon them was play, not work. They were friends of hers, and friendship never begrudges anything that gives proof of its existence in a practical way. And the flowers, grateful for the friendship which manifested itself in so many helpful ways, repaid her generously in beauty and brightness and cheer by making themselves a part of her daily life.
By all means, have a back-yard garden.
ANY persons, I find, are under the impression that we have few, if any, native flowering plants and shrubs that are worthy a place in the home-garden. They have been accustomed to consider them as "wild things," and "weeds," forgetting or overlooking the fact that all plants are wild things and weeds somewhere. So unfamiliar are they with many of our commonest plants that they fail to recognize them when they meet them outside their native haunts. Some years ago I transplanted a Solidago,—better known as a "Golden Rod,"—from a fence-corner of the pasture, and gave it a place in the home-garden. There it grew luxuriantly, and soon became a great plant that sent up scores of stalks each season as high as a man's head, every one of them crowned with a plume of brilliant yellow flowers. The effect was simply magnificent.
One day an old neighbor came along, andstopped to chat with me as I worked among my plants.
"That's a beauty," he said as he leaned across the fence near the Golden Rod. "I don't know's I ever saw anything like it before. I reckon, now, you paid a good deal of money for that plant."
"How much do you think it cost me?" I asked.
"Oh, I don't know," he answered, looking at the plant admiringly, and then at some of foreign origin, near-by. He knew something about the value of these, as he had one of them growing in his garden. He seemed to be making a mental calculation, based on the relative beauty of the plants, and presently he said:
"I ain't much of a judge of such things, but I wouldn't wonder if you paid as much as three—mebby four—an' like's not five dollars for it."
"The plant cost me nothing but the labor of bringing it from the pasture," I answered. "Don't you know what it is? There's any quantity of it back of your barn, I notice."
"You don't mean to say that's yaller-weed," exclaimed the old gentleman, with a disgusted look on his face. "I wouldn't have it inmyyard. We've got weeds enough 'thout settin' 'em out".He went away with a look on his face that made me think he felt as if he had been imposed on.
While it is true, in many instances, that "familiarity breeds contempt," it is equally true that familiarity without prejudice would open our eyes to the fact that beauty exists all about us—in lane, and field, and roadside, and forest. We are not aware of the prevalence of it until we go in search of it. When we go out with "the seeing eye," we find it everywhere. Nothing is so plentiful or so cheap as beauty to the lover of the beautiful. It may be had for the taking. We have fallen into the habit of looking to foreign lands for plants with which to beautify our gardens, thus neglecting and ignoring the beauty at our own doors. A shrub with a long name and a good big price attached will win our admiration, while a native plant, vastly more desirable, will be wholly overlooked. It ought not to be so. "Home first, the world afterward" is the motto of many patriotic men and women, and it ought to be the motto of the lover of the beautiful in plant-life when he is seeking for something with which to ornament the home-grounds.
Many persons have, however, become greatly interested in our native plants, and it is apparentthat the interest of the masses in whatever is beautiful is steadily increasing. The people are being educated to a keener appreciation of beauty than ever before. It is encouraging to know that a demand has sprung up for shrubs and plants of American origin—a demand so large, already, that many nurserymen advertise collections of native plants, some of them quite extensive. Appreciation of true beauty is putting a value into things which have heretofore had no idea of value connected with them.
The dominant idea I had in mind, when this chapter was planned, was that of enlisting the boys and girls in the work of making a collection of native plants. I would have them make what might properly be called a wild garden. But I would not confine the undertaking to the boys and girls. I would interest the man or woman who has a home to make beautiful in the material that is to be found on every hand, waiting to be utilized. Such a garden can be made of great educational value, and, at the same time, quite as ornamental as the garden that contains nothing but foreign plants. It can be made to assist in the development of patriotic as well as æsthetic ideas. It can be made to stimulate a healthy rivalry among the boys and girls, as well as the"children of a larger growth," as to whose collection shall be most complete. In the care and culture of these plants a skill and knowledge may be attained that will be of much benefit to them in the future, and possibly to the world. Who knows? We may have among us a young Linnæus, or a Humboldt, and the making of a wild garden may tend to the discovery and development of a talent which coming years may make us proud to do honor to the possessor of.
I would suggest the formation of a wild-garden society in each country village and neighborhood. Organize expeditions into the surrounding country in search of shrubs and plants. Such excursions can be made as delightful as a picnic. Take with you a good-sized basket, to contain the plants you gather, and some kind of a tool to dig the plants with—and your dinner. Lift the plants very carefully, with enough earth about them to keep their roots moist. On no account should their roots be allowed to get dry. If this happens you might as well throw them away, at once, as no amount of after-attention will undo the damage that is done by neglect to carry out this advice.
PORCH BOXPORCH BOX
The search for plants should begin early in the season if they are to be transplanted in spring,for it would not be safe to attempt their removal after they have begun to make active growth. April is a good time to look up your plants, and May a good time to bring them home. Later on, when you come across a plant that seems a desirable addition to your collection, mark the place where it grows, and transplant to the home grounds in fall, after its leaves have ripened.
In transplanting shrubs and herbaceous plants, study carefully the conditions under which they have grown, and aim to make the conditions under which theyare to growas similar to the original ones as possible. Of course you will be able to do this only approximately, in most instances, but come as near it as you can, for much of your success depends on this. You can give your plants a soil similar to that in which they have been growing, and generally, by a little planning, you can arrange for exposure to sunshine, or a shaded location, according to the nature of the plants you make use of. Very often it is possible to so locate moisture-loving plants that they can have the damp soil so many of them need, by planting them in low places or depressions where water stands for some time after a rain, while those which prefer a dry soil can be given places on knolls and stony placesfrom which water runs off readily. In order to do this part of the work well it will be necessary to study your plants carefully before removing them from their home in the wood or field. Aim to make the change as easy as possible for them. This can only be done by imitating natural conditions—in other words, the conditions under which they have been growing up to the time when you undertake their domestication.
Not knowing, at the start, the kind of plants our collection will contain, as it grows, we can have no definite plan to work to. Consequently there will be a certain unavoidable lack of system in the arrangement of the wild garden. But this may possibly be one of the chief charms of it, after a little. A garden formed on this plan—or lack of plan—will seem to have evolved itself, and the utter absence of all formality will make it a more cunning imitation of Nature's methods than it would ever be if we began it with the intention of imitating her.
Among our early-flowering native plants worthy a place in any garden will be found the Dogwoods, the Plums, the Crab-apple, and the wild Rose. Smaller plants, like the Trillium, the Houstonia, the Bloodroot, the Claytonia and the Hepatica, will work in charmingly in the foreground. Between them can be used manyvarieties of Fern, if the location is shaded somewhat, as it should be to suit the flowering plants I have named.
Among the summer-flowering sorts we have Aquilegia, Daisy, Coreopsis, Cranesbill, Eupatorium, Meadow Sweet, Lily, Helianthus, Enothera, Rudbeckia, Vervain, Veronia, Lobelia and many others that grow here and there, but are not found in all parts of the country, as those I have named are, for the most part.
Among the shrubs are Elder, Spirea, Clethra, Sumach, Dogwood, and others equally as desirable.
Among the late bloomers are the Solidagos (Golden Rod), Asters, Helenium, Ironweed, and others which continue to bloom until cold weather is at hand.
Among the desirable vines are the Ampelopsis, which vies with the Sumach in richness of color in fall, the Bittersweet, with its profusion of fruitage as brilliant as flowers, and the Clematis, beautiful in bloom, and quite as attractive later, when its seeds take on their peculiar feathery appendages that make the plant look as if a gray plume had been torn apart and scattered over the plant, portions of it adhering to every branch in the most airy, graceful manner imaginable.
Though I have named only our most familiarwild plants, it will be observed that the list is quite a long one. No one need be afraid of not being able to obtain plants enough to stock a good-sized garden. The trouble will be, in most instances, to find room for all the plants you would like to have represented in your collection, after you become thoroughly interested in the delightful work of making it. The attraction of it will increase as the collection increases, and as you discover what a wealth of material for garden-making we have at our very doors, without ever having dreamed of its existence, you will be tempted to exceed the limitations of the place because of the embarrassment of riches which makes a decision between desirable plants difficult. You can have but few of them, but you would like all.
OST persons who are the owners of gardens seem to be under the impression that we must close the summer volume of Nature's book at the end of the season, and that it must remain closed until the spring of another year invites us to a re-perusal of its attractive pages. In other words, that we are not expected to derive much pleasure from the garden for six months of the year.
There is no good reason why the home-grounds should not be attractive the year round if we plant for winter as well as summer effect.
True, we cannot have flowers in winter, but we can secure color-effects with but little trouble that will make good, to a considerable extent, the lack of floral color. Without these the winter landscape is cold, though beautiful, and to most persons it will seem dreary and monotonous in its chill whiteness. But to those who have "the seeing eye," there are always elements of wonderful beauty in it, and there is ample material athand with which to give it the touches of brightness that can make it almost as attractive as it is in June.
If the reader will carefully study the two illustrations accompanying this chapter, he will have to admit that the winter garden has many attractive features that the summer garden cannot boast of. These illustrations are summer and winter views of the same spot, taken from one of our public parks. The summer view shows a wealth of foliage and bloom, and is one of Nature's beauty-spots that we never tire of. But the winter view has in it a suggestion of breadth and distance that adds wonderfully to the charm of the scene, brought out as it is by the naked branches against the sky, and glimpses of delightful vistas farther on, which are entirely hidden by the foliage that interferes with the outlook in the summer picture. Note how the evergreens stand out sharply against the background, and how clearly every shrub—every branch—is outlined by the snow. It is one of Nature's etchings. Whatever color there is in the landscape is heightened and emphasized by strong, vivid contrast. There are little touches of exquisite beauty in this picture that cannot be found in the other.
Most of us plant a few evergreens about our homes. Sometimes we are fortunate enough to locate them where they will prove effective. Oftener we put them where they have no chance to display their charms to good effect. They do not belong near the house—least of all in the "front yard." They must be admired at a distance which will soften their coarseness of habit. You must be far enough away from them to be able to take in their charms of form and color at a glance, to observe the graceful sweep of their branches against the snow, and to fully bring out the strength and richness of color, none of which things can be done at close range. Looked at from a proper and respectful distance, every good specimen of evergreen will afford a great deal of pleasure. But it might be made to afford a great deal more if we were to set about it in the right way. Why not make our evergreens serve as backgrounds against which to bring out colors that rival, to some extent, the flowers of summer?
Have you never taken a tramp along the edge of the woodland in winter, and come suddenly upon a group of Alders? What brightness seemed to radiate from their spikes of scarlet berries! The effect is something like that of a flame, so intense is it. It seems to radiatethrough the winter air with a thrill of positive warmth. So strong an impression do they make upon the eye that you see them long after you have passed them. They photograph themselves there. Why should we not transplant this bit of woodland glory to the garden, and heighten the effect of it by giving it an evergreen as a background? Its scarlet fire, seen against the dark greenery of Spruce or Arbor Vitæ, would make the winter garden fairly glow with color.
I have seen the red-branched Willow planted near an evergreen, and the contrast of color brought out every branch so keenly that it seemed chiselled from coral. The effect was exquisite.
Train Celastrusscandens, better known as Bittersweet, where its pendant clusters of red and orange can show against evergreens, and you produce an effect that can be equalled by few flowers.
The Berberry is an exceedingly useful shrub with which to work up vivid color-effects in winter. It shows attractively among other shrubs, is charming when seen against a drift of snow, but is never quite so effective as when its richness of coloring is emphasized by contrast by the sombre green of a Spruce or Balsam.
Our native Cranberry—Viburnumopulus—isone of our best berry-bearing shrubs. It holds its crimson fruit well in winter. Planted among—not against—evergreens, it is wonderfully effective because of its tall and stately habit.
Bayberry (Myricacerifera) is another showy-fruited shrub. Its grayish-white berries are thickly studded along its brown branches, and are retained through the winter. If this is planted side by side with the Alder, the effect will be found very pleasing.
The Snowberry (Symphoricarpusracemosus) has been cultivated for nearly a hundred years in our gardens, and probably stands at the head of the list of white-fruited shrubs. If this is planted in front of evergreens the purity of its color is brought out charmingly. Group it with the red-barked Willow, the Alder, or the Berberry, and you secure a contrast that makes the effect strikingly delightful—a symphony in green, scarlet, and white. If to this combination you add the blue of a winter sky or the glow of a winter sunset, who can say there is not plenty of color in a winter landscape?
The value of the Mountain Ash in winter decoration is just beginning to be understood. If it retained its fruit throughout the entire season it would be one of our most valuable plants, butthe birds claim its crimson fruit as their especial property, and it is generally without a berry by Christmas in localities where robins and other berry-eating birds linger late in the season. Up to that time it is exceedingly attractive, especially if it is planted where it can have the benefit of strong contrast to bring out the rich color of its great clusters. Because of its tall and stately habit it will be found very effective when planted between evergreens, with other bright-colored shrubs in the foreground.
There are many shrubs whose berries are blue, and purple, and black. While these are not as showy as those of scarlet and white, they are very attractive, and can be made extremely useful in the winter garden. They should not be neglected, because they widen the range of color to such an extent that the charge of monotony of tone in the winter landscape is ineffective.
The Ramanas Rose (R.lucida) has very brilliant clusters of crimson fruit which retains its beauty long after the holidays. This shrub is really more attractive in winter than in summer.
It will be understood, from what I said at the beginning of this chapter, that I put high value on the decorative effect of leafless shrubs. Their branches, whether traced against a backgroundof sky or snow, make an embroidery that has about it a charm that summer cannot equal in delicacy. A Bittersweet, clambering over bush or tree, and displaying its many clusters of red and orange against a background of leafless branches, with the intense blue of winter sky showing through them, makes a picture that is brilliant in the extreme, when you consider the relative values of the colors composing it. Then you will discover that the charm is not confined to the color of the fruit, but to the delicate tracery of branch and twig, as well.
OMEBODY had a bright thought when the window-box came into existence. The only wonder is that persons who were obliged to forego the pleasure of a garden did not think it out long ago. It is one of the "institutions" that have come to stay. We see more of them every year. Those who have gardens—or could have them, if they wanted them—seem to have a decided preference for the window-box substitute.
There is a good reason for this: The window-box brings the garden to one's room, while the garden obliges one to make it a visit in order to enjoy the beauty in it. With the window-box the upstair room can be made as pleasant as those below, and the woman in the kitchen can enjoy the companionship of flowers while she busies herself with her housewifely duties, if she does not care to make herself a back-yard garden such as I have spoken of in a preceding chapter. Andthe humble home that has no room for flowers outside its walls, the homes in the congested city, away up, up, up above the soil in which a few flowers might possibly be coaxed to grow, if man thought less of gain and more of beauty, can be made more like what home ought to be, with but little trouble and expense, by giving these boxes a chance to do their good work at their windows. Blessed be the window-box!
Many persons, however, fail to attain success in the cultivation of plants in boxes at the window-sill, and their failures have given rise to the impression in the minds of those who have watched their undertaking, that success with them is very problematical. "Itlookseasy," said a woman to me last season, "when you see somebody else's box just running over with vines, but when you come to make the attempt for yourself you wake up to the fact that there's a knack to it that most of us fail to discover. I've tried my best, for the last three years, to have such boxes as my neighbor has, and I haven't found out what's wrong yet. I invest in the plants that are told me to be best adapted to window-box culture. I plant them, and then I coax them and coddle them. I fertilize them and I shower them, but they stubbornly refuse to dowell. Theystart offall right, but by the time they ought to be doing great things they begin to look rusty, and it isn't long before they look so sickly and forlorn that I feel like putting them out of their misery by dumping them in the ash-heap."
Now this woman's experience is the experience of many other women. She thinks,—and they think,—that they lack the "gift" that enables some persons to grow flowers successfully while others fail utterly with them. They haven't "the knack." Now, as I have said elsewhere in this book, there's no such thing as "a knack" in flower-growing. Instead of "a knack" it's a "know-how." Ninety-nine times out of a hundred failure with window-boxes is due to just one thing: They let their plants die simply because they do not give them water enough.
Liberal watering is the "know-how" that a person must have to make a success of growing; good plants in window and veranda boxes. Simply that, and nothing more.
The average woman isn't given to "studying into things" as much as the average man is, so she often fails to get at the whys and wherefores of many happenings. She sees the plants in her boxes dying slowly, but she fails to take note ofthe fact that evaporation from these boxes is very rapid. It could not be otherwise because of their exposure to wind and air on all sides. She applies water in quantities only sufficient to wet the surface of the soil, and because that looks moist she concludes there must be sufficient moisture below and lets it go at that. Examination would show her that an inch below the surface the soil in the box is very, very dry,—so dry, in fact, that no roots could find sustenance in it. This explains why plants "start off" well. While young and small their roots are close to the surface, and as long as they remain in that condition they grow well enough, but as soon as they attempt to send their roots down—as all plants do, after the earlier stages of growth—they find no moisture, and in a short time they die.
If, instead of applying a basinful of water, a pailful were used, daily, all the soil in a box of ordinary size would be made moist all through, and so long as a supply of water is kept up there is no reason why just as fine plants cannot be grown in boxes as in pots, or the garden beds. There is no danger of overwatering, for all surplus water will run off through the holes in the box, provided for drainage. Therefore make it a rule to apply to your window-box, every day,throughout the season, enough water to thoroughly saturate all the soil in it. If this is done, you will come to the conclusion that at last you have discovered the "knack" upon which success depends.
I am often asked what kind of boxes I consider best. To which I reply: "The kind that comes handiest." It isn't the box that your plants grow in that counts for much. It's the care you give. Of course the soil ought to be fairly rich, though a soil of ordinary fertility can be made to answer all purposes if a good dose of plant food is given occasionally. Care should be taken, however, not to make too frequent use of it, as it is an easy matter to force a growth that will be weak because of its rapidity, and from which there may be a disastrous reaction after a little. The result to aim at is a healthy growth, and when you secure that, be satisfied with it.
The idea prevails to a considerable extent that one must make use of plants specially adapted to window-box culture. Now the fact is—almost any kind of plant can be grown in these boxes, there being no "special adaption" to this purpose, except as to profusion of bloom and habit of growth. Drooping plants are desirable to trail over the sides of the box, and add that touch of grace which is characteristic of all vines.Plants that bloom freely throughout the season should be chosen in preference to shy and short-season bloomers. Geraniums, Petunias, Verbenas, Fuchsias, Salvias, Heliotropes, Paris Daisies—all these are excellent.
PORCH BOX.PORCH BOX.
If one cares to depend on foliage for color, most pleasing results can be secured by making use of the plants of which mention has been made in the chapter on Carpet-Bedding.
Vines that will give satisfaction are Glechoma, green, with yellow variegation—VincaHarrisonii, also green and yellow, Moneywort, German Ivy, Tradescantia, Thunbergia, and Othonna. A combination of plants with richly-colored foliage is especially desirable for boxes on the porch or veranda, where showiness seems to be considered as more important than delicacy of tint or refinement of quality. In these boxes larger plants can be used than one would care to give place to at the window. Here is where Cannas and Caladiums will be found very effective.
Ferns, like the Boston and Pierson varieties, are excellent for not too sunny window-boxes because of their graceful drooping and spreading habit. They combine well with pink-and-white Fuchsias, rose-colored Ivy Geraniums, and the white Paris Daisy. Petunias—the single sorts only—are very satisfactory, because they bloomso freely and constantly, and have enough of the droop in them to make them as useful in covering the sides of the box as they are in spreading over its surface. If pink and white varieties are used to the exclusion of the mottled and variegated kinds the effect will be found vastly more pleasing than where there is an indiscriminate jumbling of colors.
A foot in width, a foot in depth, and the length of the window frame to which it is to be attached is a good size for the average window-box. Great care must be taken to see that it is securely fastened to the frame, and that it is given a strong support, for the amount of earth it will contain will be of considerable weight when well saturated with water.
Veranda boxes, in which larger plants are to be used, should be considerably deeper and wider than the ordinary window-box. Any box of the size desired that is substantial enough to hold a sufficient amount of soil will answer all purposes, therefore it is not necessary to invest in expensive goods unless you have so much money that economy is no object to you. If your plants grow as they ought to no one can tell, by midsummer, whether your box cost ten dollars or ten cents. If it is of wood, give it a coat of some neutral-colored paint before you fill it.
OT much actual work can be done in the garden, at the north, before the middle of April. But a good deal can be done toward getting ready for active work as soon as conditions become favorable.
Right here let me say that it is a most excellent plan to do all that can be done to advantage as early in the season as possible, for the reason that when the weather becomes warm, work will come with a rush, and in the hurry of it quite likely some of it will be slighted. Always aim to keep ahead of your work.
I believe, as I have several times said, in planning things. Your garden may be small—so small that you do not think it worth while to give much consideration to it in the way of making plans for it—but it will pay you to think over the arrangement of it in advance. "Making garden" doesn't consist simply in spading up abed, and putting seed into the ground. Thought should be given to the location and arrangement of each kind of flower you make use of. The haphazard location of any plant is likely to do it injustice, and the whole garden suffers in consequence.
Make a mental picture of your garden as you would like to have it, and then take an inventory of the material you have to work with, and see how near you can come to the garden you have in mind. Try to find the proper place for every flower. Study up on habit, and color, and season of bloom, and you will not be likely to get things into the wrong place as you will be almost sure to do if you do not give considerable thought to this matter. There should be orderliness and system in the garden as well as in the house, and this can only come by knowing your plants, and so locating them that each one of them will have the opportunity of making the most of itself.
Beds can be spaded as soon as the frost is out of the ground, as advised in the chapter on The Garden of Annuals, but, as was said in that chapter, it is not advisable to do more with them at that time. If the ground is worked over when wet, the only result is that you get a good many small clods to take the place of large ones. Nothing is gained by being in a hurry with this part of the work. Pulverization of the soil can only be accomplished successfully after it has parted with the excessive moisture consequent on melting snows and spring rains. Therefore let it lie as thrown up by the spade until it is in a condition to crumble readily under the application of hoe or rake.
Shrubs can be reset as soon as frost is out of the ground. Remove all defective roots when this is done. Make the soil in which you plant them quite rich, and follow the instruction given in the chapter on Shrubs as carefully as possible, in the work of resetting.
If any changes are to be made in the border, plan for them now. Decide just what you want to do. Don't allow any guesswork about it. If you "think out" these things the home grounds will improve year by year, and you will have a place to be proud of. But the planless system which so many follow never gives satisfactory results. It gives one the impression of something that started for somewhere but never arrived at its destination.
Old border plants which have received little or no attention for years will be greatly benefited by transplanting at this season. Cut awayall the older roots, and make use of none that are not strong and healthy. Give them a rich soil. Most of them will have renewed themselves by midsummer.
If you do not care to take up the old plants, cut about them with a sharp knife, and remove as many of the old roots as possible. This is often almost as effective as transplanting, and it does not involve as much labor.
The lawn should be given attention at this season. Rake off all unsightly refuse that may have collected on it during winter. Give it an application of some good fertilizer. It is quite important that this should be done early in the season, as grass begins to grow almost as soon as frost is out of the ground, and the sward should have something to feed on as soon as it is ready for work.
Go over all the shrubs and see if any need attention in the way of pruning. But don't touch them with the pruning knife unless they really need it. Cut out old wood and weak branches, if there are any, and thin, if too thick, but leave the bush to train itself. It knows more about this than you do!
Get racks and trellises ready for summer use. These are generally made on the spur of themoment, out of whatever material comes handiest at the time they are needed. Such hurriedly constructed things are pretty sure to prove eyesores. The gardener who takes pride in his work and his garden will not be satisfied with makeshifts, but will see that whatever is needed, along this line, is well made, and looks so well that he has no reason to be ashamed of it. It should be painted a dark green or some other neutral color.
Rake the mulch away from the plants that were given protection in fall as soon as the weather gets warm enough to start them to growing. Or it can be dug into the soil about them to act as a fertilizer. Get it out of sight, for it always gives the garden an untidy effect if left about the plants.
Go over the border plants and uproot all grass that has secured a foothold there. A space of a foot should be left about all shrubs and perennials in which nothing should be allowed to grow.
If any plants seem out of place, take them up and put them where they belong. If you cannot find a place where they seem to fit in, discard them. The garden will be better off without them, no matter how desirable they are, than with them if their presence creates color-discord.
Peonies can be moved to advantage now. If you cut about the old clump and lift a good deal of earth with it, and do not interfere with its roots, no harm will be done. But if you mutilate its roots, or expose them, you need not expect any flowers from the plant for a season or two.
Get stakes ready for the Dahlias. These should be painted some unobtrusive color. If this is done, and they are taken proper care of in fall, they will last for years. This is true of racks and trellises.
Provide yourself with a hoe, an iron-toothed rake, a weeding-hook, a trowel for transplanting, a wheel-barrow, a spade, and a watering-pot. See that the latter is made from galvanized iron if you want it to last. Tin pots will rust out in a short time.
Take your watering-pot to the tinsmith and have him fit it out with an extension spout—one that can be slipped on to the end of the spout that comes with the pot. Let this be at least two feet in length. This will enable you to apply water to the roots of plants standing well back in the border, or across beds, and get it just where it will do the most good, but a short-spouted plant will not do this unless you take a goodmany unnecessary steps in making the application.
Be sure to send in your orders for seed and plants early in the season. Have everything on hand, ready for putting into the ground when the proper time comes to do this.
F weeds are kept down through the early part of the season, there will not be a great deal of weeding to do in midsummer. Still, we cannot afford to take it for granted that they require no attention, for they are most aggressive things, and so persistent are they that they will take advantage of every opportunity for perpetuating themselves. Therefore be on the lookout for them, and as soon as you discover one that has thought to escape your notice by hiding behind some flowering plant, uproot it. One weed will furnish seed enough to fill the entire garden with plants next year if let alone.
If the season happens to be very dry, some of your plants—Dahlias, for instance,—will have to be watered if you want them to amount to anything. These must have moisture at their roots in order to flower well.
Other plants may be able to get along witha mulch of grass-clippings from the lawn. Most of our annuals will stand quite a drouth.
If one is connected with a system of waterworks it is an easy matter to tide a garden over a drouth. But where there is nothing but the pump to depend on for a supply of water, I would not advise beginning artificial watering except in rare cases, like that of the Dahlia. We always find that so much work is required in supplying our plants from the pump that after a little we abandon the undertaking, and the result is that the plants we set out to be kind to are left in a worse condition, when we give up our spasmodic attention, than they would have been in if we had not begun it.
It is well to use the hoe constantly if the season is a dry one. Keep the surface of the soil open that it may take in all the moisture possible. On no account allow it to become crusted over.
Seed of perennials can be sown now to furnish plants for flowering next season.
Look to the Dahlias, and make sure they are properly staked.
Be on the lookout for black beetle on Aster and Chrysanthemum. As soon as one is discovered apply Nicoticide, and apply it thoroughly, all over the plant. Promptness is demanded in fighting this voracious pest.
During the latter part of summer, when the extreme hot weather that we have at the north sets in, cut away nearly all the top of the Pansy-plants. This will give the plants a chance to rest during the season when they are not equal to the task of flowering, because of the hot, dry weather which is so trying to them. Along in September, when the weather becomes cooler, they will take a fresh start and give us fine flowers all through the fall.
Look over the perennials and satisfy yourself that there is color-harmony everywhere. If you find a discord anywhere, mark the plant that makes it for removal later on.
Be sure to keep all seed from developing on the Sweet Peas. This youmustdo if you would have a good crop of flowers during the fall months.
If any plants seem too thick, sacrifice some of them promptly. No plant can develop itself satisfactorily if it is crowded.
Poor plants will find their way into all collections. If you find one in yours, remove it at once. There are so many good ones at our disposal that we cannot afford to give place, even for a season, to an inferior kind.
Let neatness prevail everywhere. Gather updead leaves and fallen flowers, cut away the stalks of plants upon which no more flowers can be expected, and keep the walks looking as if you expected visitors at any time, and were determined not to be caught in untidy garments.
While the good gardener can always find something to do in the garden, he will not have as much work on his hands at this season as at any other, therefore it is the time in which he can get the greatest amount of pleasure from his flowers, and in proportion to his care of them earlier in the season will be the pleasure they afford now.