THE BEGINNER
“When spring unlocks the flowers.”
Now and again we meet with beginners who really seem hardly to know one
end of a plant from another. Always buying their flowers in bunches,
they have no idea how they look when growing, and seeing flowers placed
side by side that have been sent from the widest different zones and
climates, they are not even very sure which of them may be claimed as
English grown. Shiploads of flowers from warmer latitudes keep London
and other large towns far in advance of the seasons as seen in country
districts, and it is misleading. At last some enterprising spirit
begins to long for the pleasure of the growing plant. It is a trial to
be always buying and bringing home fresh flowering plants only to see
them die off in their new quarters (for this is what they generally
do), so a balcony or window-box is started.
We will suppose its owner to be living quite in town; country, and,
as I think, even suburban folk with gardens have little need of
window-boxes, which are make-shifts, after all, though not to be
despised on that account.
The enterpriser must now choose his window-box, and is lucky if his
house is built handily for it, and if his aspects are favourable.
But what is one plant’s good is another plant’s poison. No aspect is
without some advantages, if only it has light and air; even shady
places can do with Ferns.
[Illustration: SPRING IN THE CROOK’S HILL BOARD-SCHOOL GARDEN,
NORWICH]
The style and material for our window-box must depend on
circumstances--size, for instance, and the style of the house.
It may be rustic, severe, or plain, and made either of wood, or
tiles, or cork. All are good in their way. Some modern builders
arrange the stone-work of the window-sills purposely to facilitate
window-gardening, and it is to be hoped this good fashion will be
continued and improved upon; it is a great assistance. There will often
be an amateur carpenter who is quite capable of building his window-box
for himself. It is nothing but a strong wooden case, in which holes
must be bored at the bottom; the box once made, it is easy to tack on
pieces of virgin cork. This can be bought, seven pounds for a shilling,
and nothing looks neater. Last spring I noticed all the window-boxes in
a row of small semi-detached suburban villas. The prettiest were made
of cork, and were filled with blood-red Tulips and Wallflowers almost
exactly the same shade, and lovely they all looked among the Wallflower
green. The next-door boxes were made of upright lengths of bamboo,
and had a very stiff appearance; they were filled with Tulips only,
packed very close together, and mostly yellow; the effect was anything
but good. By good luck we chanced to see the identical row of pretty
small houses again in early June, when our old admiration was furnished
afresh with summer flowers. The photograph we begged for, and were
kindly allowed to take, has become our frontispiece.
Having settled about our box, the next point to be considered is the
mould to fill it. This we can buy either by the load or sack. Good leaf
mould can be had for six shillings a load, or some get it by the sack,
and give two shillings for that. Under the box should be a plate of
zinc to prevent drips making the house damp. I have known enthusiasts
to bring mould from the country to town places in boxes like ordinary
luggage. Except in extreme cases, when a particular soil is wanted for
particular plants, I do not recommend this plan, especially now that
the railway authorities are so strict about the weight of luggage; and
besides this, plants often enjoy a change of soil; it does them good.
It is a good plan personally to superintend the first filling of the
box. To cast the mould into it and shake it down, as if we were filling
a pudding-basin, would never do. Drainage is necessary, so we must
fill the bottom of the box with crocks. Old flower-pots broken up do
excellently, but must be perfectly clean, and a few lumps of charcoal
are useful to keep all sweet. Then we can lay the mould in with a clear
conscience.
To those who would like to economize by using the mould from their own
little back-yards, if they have any, I would emphatically say “Don’t!”
It is sure to be poor stuff, and full of soot and other undesirable
things. Soot, by the way, is a capital stimulant; if kept some time
till it has lost its first crudeness, and mixed with water till the
liquid is about the colour of beer, here is an excellent tonic which
will invigorate many weakly plants. But no plants like to live on
physic, any more than we do.
Now for the flowers, or, if winter is coming on, the shrubs. Small
Conifers do very well in winter-boxes, or Golden Privet, or Acuba, or
tiny Box-trees. There is the widest range. Suppose we choose a set of
the prettiest shrubs we can get, and plant between them and in front of
them hardy bulbs, with a sprinkling of small-leafed Ivy to hang over
the edge of the box. This will give us something pretty to look at
throughout the winter and the early spring. We must water carefully, as
required, and keep all foliage quite clean. There are hundreds of other
schemes. The difficulty is to choose between them. It is a capital
plan to take in a gardening paper. Many excellent journals can be had
for one penny weekly, and any of their editors, when written to, are
ready to give advice. They will tell us what are suitable plants for
special situations, and ease our path by smoothing difficulties as they
arise.
[Illustration: PANSY BED IN CROOK’S HILL BOARD-SCHOOL GARDEN, NORWICH]
In April the time approaches for a quick change. We find shrubs no
longer satisfy, and the early bulbs are over. We now want spring
flowers, and can buy small ones ready to be planted at Covent Garden,
or from any good florist near at hand. We can propagate them ourselves
if we have ever so small a garden to fall back upon--if not, why, then
we must buy from the shops and market-gardens. Aubrietia, Wallflowers,
Anemones, Narcissus, Myosotis, Tulips, and Iris will all be coming on
now, and their flowers are charming. At this season a little fresh
mould may be advisable, and a good clean up.
In May we can make up hanging baskets for the balcony. Large ones do
better than small, as a good body of soil can be kept in a more equable
state of moisture. Fuchsias are lovely for the basket, and so are all
kinds of trailing geraniums. Moss is of course indispensable, and small
pieces will soon spread. Daisies, both white and yellow, are always
ready and welcome. Alpine Strawberries hanging or trailing over a
basket look very pretty.
June is here before we know where we are, and the long sweet summer
days. Even our miniature gardens will keep us busy. Watering, staking,
thinning out, and weeding--all these things will have to be done, as
well as cutting off dead leaves. If a plant looks sickly, do not let
that make us too sad. We had better take it out from among its fellows
and nurse it up elsewhere. In Paris, there is a hospital for invalid
plants, where they are taken care of and restored to health. I am
afraid no one has yet started a Flower Hospital for London.
Petunias come on later, and are splendid plants for town people; they
are brilliant, and do not put themselves out because of smoke and
smuts. They climb about, and fling themselves all over the place, so
it is a good plan to associate them with sturdy plants for a contrast,
and the filling up of gaps.
Insects must be destroyed as they appear, but soap and water will keep
them from appearing at all. A daily wash is the best thing in the world
for town plants, and if we cannot give it every day, we must give it as
often as we can.
Watering is always a difficult matter with beginners. No exact rules
can be laid down. It is not like clock-winding or anything mechanical.
Plants must be watered just when they want it, and if we give it
them when they don’t, it makes them sick. Still, they must never be
forgotten; if once allowed to get dust-dry, it is an injury from
which they will not recover. We must watch them carefully, and shall
thus soon learn their needs. Weather has a great deal to do with it.
Wind and sun are wonderfully drying. During the heat of summer it is
a good plan to water in the evening, so that the plants enjoy the
moisture through the night. One axiom is drummed into the heads of all
beginners, “Never water in the sunshine.” But sometimes one must do
it to avoid casualties, and no harm need come of it if we water the
ground thoroughly without touching the leaves or flowers. Let it be a
good soak. To give water in driblets is fatal. After a _little_ water,
the upper surface of the soil may cake and dry and harden, and the
plant be worse off than ever, or the water may run through some dry
channel in the mould and never reach the roots at all. It is best to
water pot-plants by standing them in a pail or tub, the water coming
quite over the rim; the leaves can be washed separately, and should
not be left too wet, which rots them; efforts must be made to get soft
water. If we really are compelled to use hard, some good may be done by
standing it for a time in shallow pans, or even in the water-pots we
are going to use. This improves its temperature; it will be far better
for the plants than cold hard water from the tap. Baby’s bath-water,
when he has done with it, is excellent to water with.
Sometimes one sees the beginner put his pot-plants out in the rain,
thinking it to be ever so generous to them. See that the leaves do not
get all the wet, leaving none for the soil; this often happens, and the
poor plants suffer thirst in the midst of plenty. We want to keep the
leaves washed clean, so that the skin of the leaves can breathe (they
are full of pores), but it is through their roots that plants drink in
the water. Our interest in tending plants is enhanced tenfold by the
study of their nature. Then common sense comes in to help us; anything
like good gardening without this is nearly as impossible as it would be
for doctors to cure their patients without having first been through a
course of training in physiology and physics.
Plants in pots set out on the balcony do well if we stand them on a
layer of coke ashes, or, indeed, any ashes that are going. Of course,
we must hide them in some cunning way. Little pots of Campanulas, pink
or white, drooping about are a help, and always decorative. So is
Musk--delicious, delightful, shade-loving Musk! What a treat when the
time for the Musk comes round! But Musk wants a great deal of watering,
and we must never water its flowers, only its leaves; and no plant
scorches up so easily in a hot sun. It just wants care, and to be in a
sheltered, yet not altogether sunless place.
For the autumn many people like Asters. I am not very fond of Asters
personally; but they are gay, and will pass in a crowd. Small Myrtles
are helpful, but our Geraniums and Petunias, Ferns and Daisies may be
relied on to keep us going till flower-time is over and we begin to
be thankful for the small mercies of the evergreen old Ivy, and enjoy
the colours of the Virginia Creeper, more beautiful than ever when
reddened by the fiery fingers of the frost.
It is hardly fair to end without a word or two about the open-air
Fern-box. For beginners, and in fact for everybody, nothing requires
so little trouble to cultivate as Ferns. Let us suppose a young
lady’s room in a north-east aspect, or north-west with only afternoon
sunshine. Here is the very place for a Fern window-box. All Ferns and
nothing else. Nothing but the common Harts-tongue looks lovely; so do
Male Ferns and Lady Ferns growing together. Ferns want more drainage
and more water than flowers, and that is all they do want. When in the
autumn they die down, the old fronds must not be cut off. Let them be,
and give a very little water now and again to prevent an utter dryness.
In the spring they will come up again as good as ever, and would be
glad of a sprinkling of fresh leaf-mould over the top just as an
encouragement for the fresh growth.
When the new fronds appear we shall find them folded at the base very
tight and cosy. Then, and then only, must last year’s dead leaves be
removed. They have protected and even nourished.
It is better not to arrange the Fern-box for a very conspicuous room;
people get impatient during the resting-time of the plants, and want
to turn them out, which is too bad. Nothing and nobody can be _always_
at its best, not even human beings. The only remedy is a second box,
and to put the Fern-box away to go through its dormant stage unseen.
The danger of this is that it may be forgotten, like canaries are
sometimes; but the Fern-box is worth trying for. In summer it is a
treat, and its fresh green never looks prettier than in a case of pale
blue tiles; I like this better for Ferns than the more conventional box
of rustic-work.
[Illustration: PART OF ROCK-GARDEN, CROOK’S HILL BOARD-SCHOOL, NORWICH]
Seeds are fascinating, but I cannot cordially recommend them for
window-box use; there are too many chances of failure. But if
there are any who wish to make the experiment Nasturtiums are the
hardiest, and Californian Nemophila is pretty and easy to grow; but
my favourite of all, and the most unfailingly good-tempered, is
Virginia Stock, which does equally well in all aspects. Give it good
ground and sufficient water, and its pretty, simple, many-coloured
flowers will not fail to please. They always remind me of the sugar
hundreds-and-thousands of our youth, one colour blending with another.
A modern poetess has written about these flowers very prettily, and the
good character she gives them is the outcome of no poetical license; it
is simple truth.
“The Lily’s ignorant white is glad of cheer,
But these are high of courage; glad are these,
Against all changes of the changing year,
Untempered sun or overshadowing trees.”
“Lilac and lavender and hoar-frost white,
My border waves its colour to the sun.
Virginia Stocks grow low, but every one
Gives all her colour to the questing light.”