WATER, WALKS, LAWNS, BOX-EDGING, SUN-DIAL AND PERGOLA
It is not advisable to arrange for a garden of any size without
considering the question of water. Within the limits of a town supply
there is only the comparatively simple matter of laying the pipes.
But when the place is dependent upon its own water system, the amount
to be counted upon and the situation of the garden with reference to
the source of supply must be seriously considered. If possible the
garden hydrants should not be more than fifty feet apart. This greatly
facilitates watering. When further apart, plants are in danger of being
injured by the unwieldy hose. A nozzle that will regulate the flow of
water from a fine spray to a strong stream will be found convenient.
Opinions differ upon the best way to lay water-pipes through a place,
some preferring to put them but a foot under ground, and turn off
the water in winter; others lay them in trenches three and a half to
four feet deep, so that they are beyond all danger from frost. This
latter plan was followed in my garden and I recommend it as being most
satisfactory.
The watering of a garden requires nearly as much judgment as the
seasoning of a soup. Keep the soil well stirred and loose on the
surface, going through the garden, where possible, with a rake; and
if there is no room for a rake, stir gently with a trowel every five
days or once a week. In this way moisture will be retained in the soil,
since the loose earth acts as a mulch.
[Illustration: Vase of double hardy Sunflowers (_Helianthus
multiflorus plenus_)
September fifteenth]
When watering, be generous. Soak the plants to the roots; wet all
the earth around them, and do it late in the afternoon, when the sun
is low. How often have I been obliged to chide the men for watering
too early in the afternoon, and not doing it thoroughly, for, upon
stirring the ground, I would find that the water had penetrated but
a couple of inches. During long periods of dry weather, the garden,
without water, will simply wither and burn.
Rhododendrons, Ferns and Lilies suffer in dry time, even though well
mulched, and must be kept moist.
Japanese Iris blooms but indifferently unless quite wet.
When dry weather continues for a long period I divide the garden
into three parts; one part is thoroughly watered every evening, and
the following day the soil is stirred. In this way the plants suffer
comparatively little. For years we had no water supply through the
gardens, and really, in dry weather, life had no pleasure for me
because of my unhappiness at the sight of the withered garden. I would
drag watering-cans about, and beg and bribe all the family to do
likewise. Every afternoon, about five o'clock, one of the men would
fill eight ten-gallon milk-cans with water, put them in a wagon, and
drive about the place watering the flower beds and borders. Frequently
he would fill these cans three times in one afternoon. This, as may be
imagined, was slow and unsatisfactory work, and, except in the case of
a small garden, is too great a task.
Often in a dry time, after dinner, I bethink me of the Rhododendrons or
Ferns or Iris, or some other plants to which drought means death, and I
feel sure "that boy has not watered them enough." Then, in ten minutes
the garden skirt, shoes and gloves are on, and those thirsty plants
get a drenching to their very roots such as they would never receive
from any perfunctory "boy" or gardener. I go to bed warm and weary,
yet sleep is sweet from satisfaction at the thought of the garden's
happiness.
WALKS
Unquestionably, walks near the house should be graveled; they naturally
have too hard usage to keep turf in good condition. Graveled walks
should be dug out a foot or more in depth, filled in with broken stone,
this covered well with coarse gravel, and finished with a coating of a
couple of inches of whatever fine gravel is chosen. A walk thus made
will be dry and well drained and weeds have little chance to grow.
The most beautiful walks of all are those of grass. Strange to say,
they are seldom seen in this country. Through any garden, some
little distance from the house, where they will be walked on only by
those going to the garden, the turf-walks, with ordinary care, will
last well, require only the usual cutting with the lawn-mower, and,
especially if edged with Box, should be the very pride and joy of the
possessor's heart.
The ground for such walks should be spaded deeply with plenty of
manure, raked carefully and made very smooth. Prepare in September,
and by the fifteenth or twentieth sow, very thickly, a mixture of
one-third each to the bushel of Kentucky Blue Grass, Long Island Bent
Grass and Red Top. Roll thoroughly, and if the weather be dry have
the newly sown paths sprinkled daily and kept moist. The tender grass
should appear in two weeks, and will continue to grow during October.
[Illustration: Vase of Monkshood
September thirtieth]
About Thanksgiving time of the first year, cover with a layer of
straw, and uncover about the twenty-fifth of March. At this time it is
well to sow thinly some more grass seed of the same kinds, and again
roll, the reason for the additional spring sowing being to replace any
of the grass that may have been winter-killed. About the twentieth
of April spread cotton-seed meal, the best of all fertilizers for
grass, all over the paths. For years we have had the lawns covered
with stable manure in February and raked off the first of April, and
for years I have waged war with the weeds and wild grasses. But sow
cotton-seed meal early in April, and if possible give the paths a
little wood-ashes in June; the result will be a hundred per cent better
than from the use of manure. Cotton-seed meal should not be sown too
thickly, and wood-ashes must be spread thinly, so as not to burn the
grass.
The men tell me that a sharp-pointed mason's trowel is more
satisfactory than any other tool for removing weeds from the lawns and
grass paths. If this is carefully attended to the end of May, and again
the latter part of June, and only artificial fertilizer used, there
will be but little trouble with weeds in the grass.
BOX-EDGING
Box-edging should be set out in the spring, that it may be thoroughly
rooted before winter.
Great care must be taken in setting out the Box, that the row be
absolutely straight and even. The garden cord is carefully stretched;
a shallow, narrow trench is dug with the spade, and then the little
plants are placed about three inches apart, each plant against the
string. The trench is half filled in with earth, then a layer of
manure, and finally more earth packed down. Box planted in this way
should grow and thrive, especially if given, along in May, a little
bone-meal.
[Illustration: Sun-dial in center of formal garden
August second]
I write feelingly of Box-edging to-day. Last week, Holy Week, I spent
in the country, and most of my time was passed on my knees. For, when
not at church or driving the intervening five miles, I was setting out
plants in the garden, and that, like one's prayers, requires kneeling.
Four men were working, setting out plants and trees, but the earth was
so sweet and warm and brown that it was impossible to keep away from
it. With trowel in hand and joy in my heart, I set out hundreds of
little Box plants, transplanted Columbines, Foxgloves and Canterbury
Bells. Big robins were hopping tamely about, calling to one another;
blackbirds and meadow-larks were singing their refrains; the brave
plants were pushing their way through the earth to new life, and I
thought how good it was to be alive, to have a garden to dig in, and,
above all, to be well and able to dig.
With work in the garden care and worry vanish. The cook (as some cooks
of mine have done) may announce that "'tis a woild waste of a place.
I be lavin' the mornin'." The hamper of meat does not arrive on the
one train from town, or somebody smashes something very dear to your
heart,--just go to the garden, tie up some Roses or vines, or poke
about with a trowel, and though murder may have been in your thoughts,
in half an hour serenity will return. And what does it all matter,
anyway? Another maid can cook for a few days, and there are always
bacon and eggs.
Philosophy is inevitably learned in a garden. Speaking of eggs, I
think of hens. Living on a farm, of course there have always been
hens and chickens. These creatures were provided with houses and yards
and fences, and given every inducement to remain where they belonged;
yet with diabolical ingenuity they would escape from their quarters,
dig under the fence, fly over it, or some one would leave a door or
a gate open, and then, with one accord, all the flock would make for
the gardens and scratch and roll in the borders. This sort of thing
happened repeatedly, until I felt there must be a league between the
farmer's wife and the hens. But the limit of endurance was reached
when, one afternoon, coming out to look at a bed of several dozen
Chrysanthemums set out in the morning, I found the poor plants all
scratched out of the ground, broken and wilted. Then in wrath the fiat
went forth, "No more hens on this farm, those on hand to be eaten at
once." For days a patient family had hen soup, hen croquettes, hen
salad and hen fricassee, until the last culprit came to her end.
SUN-DIAL
There is no more charming and interesting addition to a garden
than a sun-dial. For hundreds of years sun-dials have been used as
timekeepers, and though some of the very old ones were occasionally
set into the façade of a building, they are generally found in the
_plaisaunce_ or garden, mounted upon quaint pedestals. Sun-dials
are supposed, by their owners, to keep accurate time, but it must
be remembered that there is always a difference between clock-time
and sun-time. While, to-day, our lives are frequently portioned into
minutes, and it would seem as if one might loiter and be lazy in a
garden, if anywhere, still even among the flowers we find a "_tempus
fugit_." For a time after my sun-dial was set, it was amusing to notice
how often, about half after eleven o'clock, and again at five, this
late addition to the garden would claim the attention of the workmen.
My sun-dial stands in the center of a formal garden where four paths
meet, forming a circle twenty feet across. The pedestal is a simple
column of marble, four and one-half feet high, slightly tapering toward
the top, with beveled corners. This is placed on a stone foundation
three and one-half feet deep, laid in cement. The pedestal I found at
the yard of a second-hand building-material man, on Avenue B, in New
York city. After it had been set in place, I wanted it rubbed up and
a chipped place smoothed. The only available man for this work, was
the gravestone-cutter from the nearest town. When he was recognized at
work in the garden by passing countrymen, they supposed, of course,
that some one was buried there, and many have been the inquiries as to
"whose be that mouny-ment."
Crimson Rambler Roses twine about the pedestal. At the corners of
the four paths are standard Box trees, which stand like sentinels,
and between them there are Bay trees in terra-cotta vases of simple
shape--copies of antique ones.
The dial made for the latitude bears this inscription, "_Utere
praesenti, memor ultimae_" (Use the present hour, mindful of the last),
which I found in an old book on sun-dials in the Avery Library, at
Columbia University.
PERGOLA
Across the end of this garden is a rustic pergola seventy feet long,
made of cedar posts cut from the woods on the farm, ten posts on a
side, each post being set four feet deep. A string-piece of heavy
chestnut rests on the tops of each row of posts. Cedar poles ten inches
apart extend across the top and project two feet over each side. The
pergola is eight feet wide and ten feet high, is easy to build and
very effective. Care must be taken to set the posts at least four
feet. At each post are planted a two-year-old root of Wistaria and
one of Virginia Creeper, and I live in the hope of some day seeing
the vines cover the pergola. The ground slopes gently where this is
built, and the first autumn after it was made, it looked, from a little
distance, so much like a section of an elevated railroad as to be very
depressing. But one must possess imagination to be a gardener, and have
the ability to see the garden as it will look "next year." So I refused
to see the pergola except as clothed with vines, and in May, with the
beautiful racemes of Purple Wistaria hanging from every rafter.
Patience and perseverance are traits necessary to the gardener. One
must not be discouraged, but determined to succeed. If a set of plants
die, or do not flourish this year, try them again next season, under
different conditions, until the difficulties are overcome. I have known
people who began gardening as a mere pastime when over forty years old,
and who have told me what an absorbing interest it had become and how
greatly it changed the whole aspect of life for them in the country.
What a delightful tie, fondness for gardening makes between people!
I know several men with beautiful places and lovely gardens in which
they take the warmest personal interest. Whenever I meet one of them
at dinner, if by chance I am not seated next to him, I am unhappy and
cannot listen sympathetically, either to the enthusiasm of the man on
one side whose heart is, perhaps, bound up in golf, or to the laments
of my neighbor on the other, who may be suffering from rheumatism or
gout, and unable to eat or drink what he wants.
INSECTICIDES--TOOL-ROOM