A War Garden. 



BY HENRY BELDEN, DYKEMANS, N". Y. 



We now see that we made a big mis- 

 take, by not doing any fall plowing, 

 but we had no intention of putting in 

 a garden this year. We had laid out 

 enough work — ditching, grading, fenc- 

 ing and fixing — to say nothing of tree 

 spraying, fruit picking and haying, to 

 keep our one man, and an occasional 

 team, more than busy. And then — 

 this war came, and this garden enthus- 

 iasm, and the desire to do our little 

 "bit," if only to provide for ourselves 

 and our workers, for — we figure, that 

 if everyone, who can, takes care of 

 themselves vegetabily, it will save that 

 much to the general store. 



The reasons why our ideas do not 

 assume a more ambitious form, having 

 considerable acreage at command, is 

 because the farm abounds in rock and 

 ledge, — very picturesque but provoca- 

 tive of profanity when attempts are 

 made to the cultivation of it. And, 

 then, because of the high cost of feed, 

 we have no stock or horses, and have 

 to hire and the cost of an occasional 

 team is quite an item of expense. We 

 are paying a dollar more this year than 

 last and may have to pay still yet more 

 and yet face a minimum price on our 

 product — if we are forced to sell it. 



And there is but one team, in the 

 neighborhood, that we can depend on. 

 Upon consideration, this statement is 

 open to revision, for we had the prom- 

 ise of that team, and a man, for last 

 week, and they came not ! — and we can 

 get no definite promise for the future, 

 and we have two bushels of seed pota- 

 toes awaiting planting, and. although 

 the Garden has been plowed, it has not 

 been disked and we are forced to "fork 

 it over"-— which is no small task. Soon 

 Ave must do our first spraying — some 

 sixty tree- — and much routine work 



must be accomplished by one man and 

 the writer — one absolutely untrained 

 and, in some ways, unfitted for much 

 of the labor entailed. 



And so, to be sure that that garden 

 will not be irreparably damaged by 

 May frosts, or droughts, — there are 

 numerous boxes filled with sawdust, in 

 the cellar, and in them are all kinds 

 of garden seeds, and some 500 plant 

 food tablets are awaiting immersion, 

 and the day will come when those saw- 

 dust boxes will be transferred to the 

 "Sunparlor"--(a very warlike measure, 

 we assure you) and our seedlings will 

 be fed, literally, by the spoonful. 



I can hear some one say, "what is he 

 talking about, — don't he know any- 

 thing?" Yes, kind reader, he knows 

 just one little thing, and he means to 

 work that to the limit — this year — but 

 what said limit is, he, himself, don't 

 know. (Information gladly received). 



And this is what he knows, and how 

 he learned it. Once upon a time, when 

 Easter was very late, and the spring 

 still later, the writer was in a hotel in 

 a place where blossoms should have 

 been, if nature had had a chance. And 

 there were seventeen children there, 

 and they were the kind of children that 

 have dancing eyes and quiet feet, and 

 the writer said within himself, 'there 

 shall be green things growing on Eas- 

 ter morn', — and it was so — green things 

 agrowing in eggshells! Twenty-four 

 eggshells set in rows, filled with saw- 

 dust and spoonfed with plantfood. 

 Don't ask me what we grew — it was so 

 long ago — (but T can tell you how the 

 children looked, if you wish to know), 

 but the next year a more practical at- 

 tempt was made, and some lettuce and 

 parsley survived to find its way into 

 a garden, and thrived there, — and that 

 is why there are sawdust boxes in the 

 cellar. 



