OCTOBER
Michaelmas Daisies -- Arranging and staking -- Spindle-tree -- Autumn
colour of Azaleas -- Quinces -- Medlars -- Advantage of early planting
of shrubs -- Careful planting -- Pot-bound roots -- Cypress hedge --
Planting in difficult places -- Hardy flower border -- Lifting Dahlias
-- Dividing hardy plants -- Dividing tools -- Plants difficult to divide
-- Periwinkles -- Sternbergia -- Czar Violets -- Deep cultivation for
_Lilium giganteum_.
The early days of October bring with them the best bloom of the
Michaelmas Daisies, the many beautiful garden kinds of the perennial
Asters. They have, as they well deserve to have, a garden to themselves.
Passing along the wide path in front of the big flower border, and
through the pergola that forms its continuation, with eye and brain full
of rich, warm colouring of flower and leaf, it is a delightful surprise
to pass through the pergola's last right-hand opening, and to come
suddenly upon the Michaelmas Daisy garden in full beauty. Its clean,
fresh, pure colouring, of pale and dark lilac, strong purple, and pure
white, among masses of pale-green foliage, forms a contrast almost
startling after the warm colouring of nearly everything else; and the
sight of a region where the flowers are fresh and newly opened, and in
glad spring-like profusion, when all else is on the verge of death and
decay, gives an impression of satisfying refreshment that is hardly to
be equalled throughout the year. Their special garden is a wide border
on each side of a path, its length bounded on one side by a tall hedge
of filberts, and on the other side by clumps of yew, holly, and other
shrubs. It is so well sheltered that the strongest wind has its
destructive power broken, and only reaches it as a refreshing
tree-filtered breeze. The Michaelmas Daisies are replanted every year as
soon as their bloom is over, the ground having been newly dug and
manured. The old roots, which will have increased about fourfold, are
pulled or chopped to pieces, nice bits with about five crowns being
chosen for replanting; these are put in groups of three to five
together. Tall-growing kinds like _Novi Belgi_ Robert Parker are kept
rather towards the back, while those of delicate and graceful habit,
such as _Cordifolius elegans_ and its good variety Diana are allowed to
come forward. The fine dwarf _Aster amellus_ is used in rather large
quantity, coming quite to the front in some places, and running in and
out between the clumps of other kinds. Good-sized groups of _Pyrethrum
uliginosum_ are given a place among the Asters, for though of quite
another family, they are Daisies, and bloom at Michaelmas, and are
admirable companions to the main occupants of the borders. The only
other plants admitted are white Dahlias, the two differently striped
varieties of _Eulalia japonica_, the fresh green foliage of Indian
Corn, and the brilliant light-green leafage of _Funkia grandiflora_.
Great attention is paid to staking the Asters. Nothing is more
deplorable than to see a neglected, overgrown plant, at the last moment,
when already half blown down, tied up in a tight bunch to one stake.
When we are cutting underwood in the copse in the winter, special
branching spray is looked out for our Michaelmas Daisies and cut about
four feet or five feet long, with one main stem and from two to five
branches. Towards the end of June and beginning of July these are thrust
firmly into the ground among the plants, and the young growths are tied
out so as to show to the best advantage. Good kinds of Michaelmas
Daisies are now so numerous that in selecting those for the special
garden it is well to avoid both the ones that bloom earliest and also
the very latest, so that for about three weeks the borders may show a
well-filled mass of bloom.
[Illustration: BORDERS OF MICHAELMAS DAISIES.]
The bracken in the copse stands dry and dead, but when leaves are
fluttering down and the chilly days of mid-October are upon us, its
warm, rusty colouring is certainly cheering; the green of the freshly
grown mossy carpet below looks vividly bright by contrast. Some bushes
of Spindle-tree (_Euonymus europaeus_) are loaded with their rosy
seed-pods; some are already burst, and show the orange-scarlet seeds--an
audacity of colouring that looks all the brighter for the even,
lustreless green of the leaves and of the green-barked twigs and stems.
The hardy Azaleas are now blazing masses of crimson, almost scarlet
leaf; the old _A. pontica_, with its large foliage, is as bright as any.
With them are grouped some of the North American Vacciniums and
Andromedas, with leaves almost as bright. The ground between the groups
of shrubs is knee-deep in heath. The rusty-coloured withered bloom of
the wild heath on its purplish-grey masses and the surrounding banks of
dead fern make a groundwork and background of excellent colour-harmony.
How seldom does one see Quinces planted for ornament, and yet there is
hardly any small tree that better deserves such treatment. Some Quinces
planted about eight years ago are now perfect pictures, their lissome
branches borne down with the load of great, deep-yellow fruit, and their
leaves turning to a colour almost as rich and glowing. The old English
rather round-fruited kind with the smooth skin is the best both for
flavour and beauty--a mature tree without leaves in winter has a
remarkably graceful, arching, almost weeping growth. The other kind is
of a rather more rigid form, and though its woolly-coated, pear-shaped
fruits are larger and strikingly handsome, the whole tree has a coarser
look, and just lacks the attractive grace of the other. They will do
fairly well almost anywhere, though they prefer a rich, loamy soil and a
cool, damp, or even swampy place. The Medlar is another of the small
fruiting trees that is more neglected than it should be, as it well
deserves a place among ornamental shrubs. Here it is a precious thing
in the region where garden melts into copse. The fruit-laden twigs are
just now very attractive, and its handsome leaves can never be passed
without admiration. Close to the Medlars is a happy intergrowth of the
wild Guelder-Rose, still bearing its brilliant clusters, a
strong-growing and far-clambering garden form of _Rosa arvensis_, full
of red hips, Sweetbriar, and Holly--a happy tangle of red-fruited
bushes, all looking as if they were trying to prove, in friendly
emulation, which can make the bravest show of red-berried wild-flung
wreath, or bending spray, or stately spire; while at their foot the
bright colour is repeated by the bending, berried heads of the wild
Iris, opening like fantastic dragons' mouths, and pouring out the red
bead-like seeds upon the ground; and, as if to make the picture still
more complete, the leaves of the wild Strawberry that cover the ground
with a close carpet have also turned to a crimson, and here and there to
an almost scarlet colour.
During the year I make careful notes of any trees or shrubs that will be
wanted, either to come from the nursery or to be transplanted within my
own ground, so as to plant them as early as possible. Of the two
extremes it is better to plant too early than too late. I would rather
plant deciduous trees before the leaves are off than wait till after
Christmas, but of all planting times the best is from the middle of
October till the end of November, and the same time is the best for all
hardy plants of large or moderate size.
I have no patience with slovenly planting. I like to have the ground
prepared some months in advance, and when the proper time comes, to do
the actual planting as well as possible. The hole in the already
prepared ground is taken out so that the tree shall stand exactly right
for depth, though in this dry soil it is well to make the hole an inch
or two deeper, in order to leave the tree standing in the centre of a
shallow depression, to allow of a good watering now and then during the
following summer. The hole must be made wide enough to give easy space
for the most outward-reaching of the roots; they must be spread out on
all sides, carefully combing them out with the fingers, so that they all
lay out to the best advantage. Any roots that have been bruised, or have
broken or jagged ends, are cut off with a sharp knife on the homeward
side of the injury. Most gardeners when they plant, after the first
spadeful or two has been thrown over the root, shake the bush with an up
and down joggling movement. This is useful in the case of plants with a
good lot of bushy root, such as Berberis, helping to get the grains of
earth well in among the root; but in tree planting, where the roots are
laid out flat, it is of course useless. In our light soil, the closer
and firmer the earth is made round the newly-planted tree the better,
and strong staking is most important, in order to save the newly-placed
root from disturbance by dragging.
Some trees and shrubs one can only get from nurseries in pots. This is
usually the case with Ilex, Escallonia, and Cydonia. Such plants are
sure to have the roots badly matted and twisted. The main root curls
painfully round and round inside the imprisoning pot, but if it is a
clever root it works its way out through the hole in the bottom, and
even makes quite nice roots in the bed of ashes it has stood on. In this
case, as these are probably its best roots, we do not attempt to pull it
back through the hole, but break the pot to release it without hurt. If
it is possible to straighten the pot-curled root, it is best to do so;
in any case, the small fibrous ones can be laid out. Often the potful of
roots is so hard and tight that it cannot be disentangled by the hand;
then the only way is to soften it by gentle bumping on the bench, and
then to disengage the roots by little careful digs all round with a
blunt-pointed stick. If this is not done, and the plant is put in in its
pot-bound state, it never gets on; it would be just as well to throw it
away at once.
Nine years ago a hedge of Lawson's Cypress was planted on one side of
the kitchen garden. Three years later, when the trees had made some
growth, I noticed in the case of three or four that they were quite bare
of branches on one side all the way up for a width of about one-sixth of
the circumference, leaving a smooth, straight, upright strip. Suspecting
the cause, I had them up, and found in every case that the root just
below the bare strip had been doubled under the stem, and had therefore
been unable to do its share of the work. Nothing could have pointed out
more clearly the defect in the planting.
There are cases where ground cannot be prepared as one would wish, and
where one has to get over the difficulty the best way one can. Such a
case occurred when I had to plant some Yews and Savins right under a
large Birch-tree. The Birch is one of several large ones that nearly
surround the lawn. This one stands just within the end of a large
shrub-clump, near the place of meeting of some paths with the grass and
with some planting; here some further planting was wanted of dark-leaved
evergreens. There is no tree more ground-robbing than a Birch, and under
the tree in question the ground was dust-dry, extremely hard, and
nothing but the poorest sand. Looking at the foot of a large tree one
can always see which way the main roots go, and the only way to get down
any depth is to go between these and not many feet away from the trunk.
Farther away the roots spread out and would receive more injury. So the
ground was got up the best way we could, and the Yews and Savins
planted. Now, after some six years, they are healthy and dark-coloured,
and have made good growth. But in such a place one cannot expect the
original preparation of the ground, such as it was, to go for much. The
year after planting they had some strong, lasting manure just pricked in
over the roots--stuff from the shoeing-forge, full of hoof-parings.
Hoof-parings are rich in ammonia, and decay slowly. Every other year
they have either a repetition of this or some cooling cow manure. The
big Birch no doubt gets some of it, though its hungriest roots are
farther afield, but the rich colour of the shrubs shows that they are
well nourished.
As soon as may be in November the big hardy flower-border has to be
thoroughly looked over. The first thing is to take away all "soft
stuff." This includes all dead annuals and biennials and any tender
things that have been put in for the summer, also Paris Daisies,
Zinnias, French and African Marigolds, Helichrysums, Mulleins, and a few
Geraniums. Then Dahlias are cut down. The waste stuff is laid in big
heaps on the edge of the lawn just across the footpath, to be loaded
into the donkey-cart and shot into some large holes that have been dug
up in the wood, whose story will be told later.
The Dahlias are now dug up from the border, and others collected from
different parts of the garden. The labels are tied on to the short
stumps that remain, and the roots are laid for a time on the floor of a
shed. If the weather has been rainy just before taking them up, it is
well to lay them upside down, so that any wet there may be about the
bases of the large hollow stalks may drain out. They are left for
perhaps a fortnight without shaking out the earth that holds between the
tubers, so that they may be fairly dry before they are put away for the
winter in a cellar.
Then we go back to the flower border and dig out all the plants that
have to be divided every year. It will also be the turn for some others
that only want division every two or three or more years, as the case
may be. First, out come all the perennial Sunflowers. These divide
themselves into two classes; those whose roots make close clumpy masses,
and those that throw out long stolons ending in a blunt snout, which is
the growing crown for next year. To the first division belong the old
double Sunflower (_Helianthus multiflorus_), of which I only keep the
well-shaped variety Soleil d'Or, and the much taller large-flowered
single kind, and a tall pale-yellow flowered one with a dark stem, whose
name I do not know. It is not one of the kinds thought much of, and as
usually grown has not much effect; but I plant it at the back and pull
it down over other plants that have gone out of flower, so that instead
of having only a few flowers at the top of a rather bare stem eight feet
high, it is a spreading cloud of pale yellow bloom; the training down,
as in the case of so many other plants, inducing it to throw up a short
flowering stalk from the axil of every leaf along the stem. The kinds
with the running roots are _Helianthus rigidus_, and its giant variety
Miss Mellish, _H. decapetalus_ and _H. laetiflorus_. I do not know how it
may be in other gardens, but in mine these must be replanted every year.
Phloxes must also be taken up. They are always difficult here, unless
the season is unusually rainy; in dry summers, even with mulching and
watering, I cannot keep them from drying up. The outside pieces are cut
off and the woody middle thrown away. It is surprising what a tiny bit
of Phlox will make a strong flowering plant in one season. The kinds I
like best are the pure whites and the salmon-reds; but two others that I
find very pretty and useful are Eugenie, a good mauve, and Le Soleil, a
strong pink, of a colour as near a really good pink as in any Phlox I
know. Both of these have a neat and rather short habit of growth. I do
not have many Michaelmas Daisies in the flower border, only some early
ones that flower within September; of these there are the white-flowered
_A. paniculatus_, _Shortii_, _acris_, and _amellus_. These of course
come up, and any patches of Gladiolus are collected, to be dried for a
time and then stored.
The next thing is to look through the border for the plants that require
occasional renewal. In the front I find that a longish patch of
_Heuchera Richardsoni_ has about half the plants overgrown. These must
come up, and are cut to pieces. It is not a nice plant to divide; it has
strong middle crowns, and though there are many side ones, they are
attached to the main ones too high up to have roots of their own; but I
boldly slice down the main stocky stem with straight downward cuts, so
as to give a piece of the thick stock to each side bit. I have done this
both in winter and spring, and find the spring rather the best, if not
followed by drought. Groups of _Anemone japonica_ and of _Polygonum
compactum_ are spreading beyond bounds and must be reduced. Neither of
these need be entirely taken up. Without going into further detail, it
may be of use to note how often I find it advisable to lift and divide
some of the more prominent hardy plants.
Every year I divide Michaelmas Daisies, Goldenrod, _Helianthus_,
_Phlox_, _Chrysanthemum maximum_, _Helenium pumilum_, _Pyrethrum
uliginosum_, _Anthemis tinctoria_, _Monarda_, _Lychnis_, _Primula_,
except _P. denticulata_, _rosea_, and _auricula_, which stand two years.
Every two years, White Pinks, Cranesbills, _Spiraea_, _Aconitum_,
_Gaillardia_, _Coreopsis_, _Chrysanthemum indicum_, _Galega_,
_Doronicum_, _Nepeta_, _Geum aureum_, _Oenothera Youngi_, and _Oe.
riparia_.
Every three years, _Tritoma_, _Megasea_, _Centranthus_, _Vinca_, _Iris_,
_Narcissus_.
A plasterer's hammer is a tool that is very handy for dividing plants.
It has a hammer on one side of the head, and a cutting blade like a
small chopper on the other. With this and a cold chisel and a strong
knife one can divide any roots in comfort. I never divide things by
brutally chopping them across with a spade. Plants that have soft fleshy
tubers like Dahlias and Paeonies want the cold chisel; it can be cleverly
inserted among the crowns so that injury to the tubers is avoided, and
it is equally useful in the case of some plants whose points of
attachment are almost as hard as wire, like _Orobus vernus_, or as
tough as a door-mat, like _Iris graminia_. The Michaelmas Daisies of
the _Novae Angliae_ section make root tufts too close and hard to be cut
with a knife, and here the chopper of the plasterer's hammer comes in.
Where the crowns are closely crowded, as in this Aster, I find it best
to chop at the bottom of the tuft, among the roots; when the chopper has
cut about two-thirds through, the tuft can be separated with the hands,
dividing naturally between the crowns, whereas if chopped from the top
many crowns would have been spoilt.
Tritomas want dividing with care; it always looks as if one could pull
every crown apart, but there is a tender point at the "collar," where
they easily break off short; with these also it is best to chop from
below or to use the chisel, making the cut well down in the yellow rooty
region. Veratrums divide much in the same way, wanting a careful cut low
down, the points of their crowns being also very easy to break off. The
Christmas Rose is one of the most awkward plants to divide successfully.
It cannot be done in a hurry. The only safe way is to wash the clumps
well out and look carefully for the points of attachment, and cut them
either with knife or chisel, according to their position. In this case
the chisel should be narrower and sharper. Three-year-old tufts of St.
Bruno's Lily puzzled me at first. The rather fleshy roots are so tightly
interlaced that cutting is out of the question; but I found out that if
the tuft is held tight in the two hands, and the hands are worked
opposite ways with a rotary motion of about a quarter of a circle, that
they soon come apart without being hurt in the least. Delphiniums easily
break off at the crown if they are broken up by hand, but the roots cut
so easily that it ought not to be a difficulty.
There are some plants in whose case one can never be sure whether they
will divide well or not, such as Oriental Poppies and _Eryngium
Oliverianum_. They behave in nearly the same way. Sometimes a Poppy or
an Eryngium comes up with one thick root, impossible to divide, while
the next door plant has a number of roots that are ready to drop apart
like a bunch of Salsafy.
Everlasting Peas do nearly the same. One may dig up two plants--own
brothers of say seven years old--and a rare job it is, for they go
straight down into the earth nearly a yard deep. One of them will have a
straight black post of a root 2-1/2 inches thick without a break of any
sort till it forks a foot underground, while the other will be a sort of
loose rope of separate roots from half to three-quarters of an inch
thick, that if carefully followed down and cleverly dissected where they
join, will make strong plants at once. But the usual way to get young
plants of Everlasting Pea is to look out in earliest spring for the many
young growths that will be shooting, for these if taken off with a good
bit of the white underground stem will root under a hand-light.
Most of the Primrose tribe divide pleasantly and easily: the worst are
the _auricula_ section; with these, for outdoor planting, one often has
to slice a main root down to give a share of root to the offset.
When one is digging up plants with running roots, such as Gaultheria,
Honeysuckle, Polygonum, Scotch Briars, and many of the _Rubus_ tribe, or
what is better, if one person is digging while another pulls up, it
never does for the one who is pulling to give a steady haul; this is
sure to end in breakage, whereas a root comes up willingly and unharmed
in loosened ground to a succession of firm but gentle tugs, and one soon
learns to suit the weight of the pulls to the strength of the plant, and
to learn its breaking strain.
Towards the end of October outdoor flowers in anything like quantity
cannot be expected, and yet there are patches of bloom here and there in
nearly every corner of the garden. The pretty Mediterranean Periwinkle
(_Vinca acutiflora_) is in full bloom. As with many another southern
plant that in its own home likes a cool and shady place, it prefers a
sunny one in our latitude. The flowers are of a pale and delicate
grey-blue colour, nearly as large as those of the common _Vinca major_,
but they are borne more generously as to numbers on radical shoots that
form thick, healthy-looking tufts of polished green foliage. It is not
very common in gardens, but distinctly desirable.
In the bulb-beds the bright-yellow _Sternbergia lutea_ is in flower. At
first sight it looks something like a Crocus of unusually firm and
solid substance; but it is an Amaryllis, and its pure and even yellow
colouring is quite unlike that of any of the Crocuses. The numerous
upright leaves are thick, deep green, and glossy. It flowers rather
shyly in our poor soil, even in well-made beds, doing much better in
chalky ground.
Czar Violets are giving their fine and fragrant flowers on stalks nine
inches long. To have them at their best they must be carefully
cultivated and liberally enriched. No plants answer better to good
treatment, or spoil more quickly by neglect. A miserable sight is a
forgotten violet-bed where they have run together into a tight mat,
giving only few and poor flowers. I have seen the owner of such a bed
stand over it and blame the plants, when he should have laid the lash on
his own shoulders. Violets must be replanted every year. When the last
rush of bloom in March is over, the plants are pulled to pieces, and
strong single crowns from the outer edges of the clumps, or from the
later runners, are replanted in good, well-manured soil, in such a place
as will be somewhat shaded from summer sun. There should be eighteen
inches between each plant, and as they make their growth, all runners
should be cut off until August. They are encouraged by liberal doses of
liquid manure from time to time, and watered in case of drought; and the
heart of the careful gardener is warmed and gratified when friends,
seeing them at midsummer, say (as has more than once happened), "What a
nice batch of young Hollyhocks!"
In such a simple matter as the culture of this good hardy Violet, my
garden, though it is full of limitations, and in all ways falls short of
any worthy ideal, enables me here and there to point out something that
is worth doing, and to lay stress on the fact that the things worth
doing are worth taking trouble about. But it is a curious thing that
many people, even among those who profess to know something about
gardening, when I show them something fairly successful--the crowning
reward of much care and labour--refuse to believe that any pains have
been taken about it. They will ascribe it to chance, to the goodness of
my soil, and even more commonly to some supposed occult influence of my
own--to anything rather than to the plain fact that I love it well
enough to give it plenty of care and labour. They assume a tone of
complimentary banter, kindly meant no doubt, but to me rather
distasteful, to this effect: "Oh yes, of course it will grow for you;
anything will grow for you; you have only to look at a thing and it will
grow." I have to pump up a laboured smile and accept the remark with
what grace I can, as a necessary civility to the stranger that is within
my gates, but it seems to me evident that those who say these things do
not understand the love of a garden.
I could not help rejoicing when such a visitor came to me one October. I
had been saying how necessary good and deep cultivation was, especially
in so very poor and shallow a soil as mine. Passing up through the copse
where there were some tall stems of _Lilium giganteum_ bearing the great
upturned pods of seed, my visitor stopped and said, "I don't believe a
word about your poor soil--look at the growth of that Lily. Nothing
could make that great stem ten feet high in a poor soil, and there it
is, just stuck into the wood!" I said nothing, knowing that presently I
could show a better answer than I could frame in words. A little farther
up in the copse we came upon an excavation about twelve feet across and
four deep, and by its side a formidable mound of sand, when my friend
said, "Why are you making all this mess in your pretty wood? are you
quarrying stone, or is it for the cellar of a building? and what on
earth are you going to do with that great heap of sand? why, there must
be a dozen loads of it." That was my moment of secret triumph, but I
hope I bore it meekly as I answered, "I only wanted to plant a few more
of those big Lilies, and you see in my soil they would not have a chance
unless the ground was thoroughly prepared; look at the edge of the scarp
and see how the solid yellow sand comes to within four inches of the
top; so I have a big wide hole dug; and look, there is the donkey-cart
coming with the first load of Dahlia-tops and soft plants that have been
for the summer in the south border. There will be several of those
little cartloads, each holding three barrowfuls. As it comes into the
hole, the men will chop it with the spade and tread it down close,
mixing in a little sand. This will make a nice cool, moist bottom of
slowly-rotting vegetable matter. Some more of the same kind of waste
will come from the kitchen garden--cabbage-stumps, bean-haulm, soft
weeds that have been hoed up, and all the greenest stuff from the
rubbish-heap. Every layer will be chopped and pounded, and tramped down
so that there should be as little sinking as possible afterwards. By
this time the hole will be filled to within a foot of the top; and now
we must get together some better stuff--road-scrapings and trimmings
mixed with some older rubbish-heap mould, and for the top of all, some
of our precious loam, and the soil of an old hotbed and some
well-decayed manure, all well mixed, and then we are ready for the
Lilies. They are planted only just underground, and then the whole bed
has a surfacing of dead leaves, which helps to keep down weeds, and also
looks right with the surrounding wild ground. The remains of the heap of
sand we must deal with how we can; but there are hollows here and there
in the roadway and paths, and a place that can be levelled up in the
rubbish-yard, and some kitchen-garden paths that will bear raising, and
so by degrees it is disposed of."