There are so few who care enough for flowers to trouble themselves
with them during the winter, that it seems almost unkind to criticise
the imperfections of those who do. But it is very plain that, for the
most part, skill and knowledge do not keep pace with good taste. _Not_
to point out defects to those who are anxious to improve would be the
real unkindness.
There are two objects for which plants are kept over.
Plants are housed for the sake of their verdure and bloom during the
winter; or, simply to protect them from the frosts. Our first
criticism is, that these two separate objects are, to a great extent,
improperly united. Tables and window-stands are crowded with plants
which ought to be in the cellar or in a pit. Plants which have bloomed
through the summer _will_ rest during the winter. To remove them from
the heat and dust of the parlor—to place them in a dry, light, warm
cellar, will certainly conduce to their entire rest, and the parlor
will lose no grace by the removal of ragged stems, falling leaves, and
flowerless branches. When a large quantity of plants are to be
protected, and cellar room is wanting, a pit may be prepared with
little expense. Dig a place eight or ten feet square, in a dry
exposure. The depth may be from five to six feet. Let the surface of
this chamber be curbed about with a plank frame, the top of which
should slope to the south at an inclination of about three inches to
the foot. This may be covered with plank except in the middle, where
two sash may be placed. The outside of the plank may be banked up with
earth, and if light brush or haulm be placed upon the top, in severe
weather, it will be all the better. The inside may be provided with
shelves on every side for the pots, and thus hundreds of plants may be
effectually protected. During severe freezing weather the sash should
be covered with mats, old carpet, straw or anything of the kind; and
in _very_ cold weather this should not be removed during the daytime:
for if the plants have been touched with frost, the admission of light
will destroy or maim them, whereas, if kept in darkness, they will
suffer little or no injury. Several families may unite in the expense
of forming a cold-pit and thus fill it with plants at a small expense
and very little inconvenience to each. _Very little_ if any water
should be given to plants thus at rest.
Even where plants are wanted to bloom in the parlor late in the
winter, it is often better to let them spend the fore-part of the
winter in the cellar or pit.
Our second criticism respects the _character_ of winter collections.
The most noticeable error is the strange crowd of plants often huddled
together, as if the excellence of a collection consisted in the number
of things brought together. Everything that the florist sees in other
collections has been procured, as if it would be an unpardonable
negligence not to have what others have. Hence we sometimes see scores
of plants, very different in their habits, requiring widely different
conditions of growth, reduced to one regimen, viz. a place near the
window, so much water a day, and one turning round. This summary
procedure, of course, soon results in a vegetable Falstaff’s regiment;
some plants being long, sprawling, gangling, some dormant and dumpy;
some shedding their leaves and going to rest with unripe wood, some
mildewed, a few faintly struggling to show here and there a bewildered
blossom. In such a collection the eye is pained by the entire want of
sympathy arising from jumbling together the most dissimilar kinds;
from the want of robust health, and from the entire disappearance of
that vivid freshness and sprightliness of growth, compact while it is
rapid, which gives a charm to well managed plants.
All plants which are not growing, or for whose growth your parlors are
not suitable, should be put into the cellar and should there be
allowed to stand over in a state of rest. According to your
accommodations, select a _few_ vigorous, symmetrical, hearty, healthy
plants for the window. _One plant_ well tended, will afford you more
pleasure than twenty, half-nurtured.
In our dwellings, one has to make his way between two extremes in the
best manner that he can. Without a stove our thin-walled houses are
cold as an ice-house, and a frosty night sends sad dismay among our
favorites. Then, on the other hand, if we have a stove, the air is apt
to be parched, and unwholesome, fit for salamanders, fat and torpid
cats and dozing grandmothers. There is not much choice between an
ice-house and an oven. _There can be no such thing as floral health
without fresh air and enough of it._ This must be procured by frequent
ventilation.