THE ANNUAL MEETING. 119 



kindred, but as I look back through the lapse of 40 years 1 can now seem to 

 see the dear, sweet face of that niiuistering angel, who long since has gone 

 to the better land. 



Well, about the first work in spring was to get out the oxen and cart and 

 haul manure on the garden and then plow it, and I used to wonder how they 

 would get in with the first load until I saw a panel of the fence lifted out, and 

 when it was replaced it looked just like the rest of the fence. After plowing 

 an alley was laid out across the middle of the garden with a narrow border on 

 either side to be occupied by flowering annuals. This alley divided the garden 

 into four plats, the southwest, always planted to cucumbers, beets, parsnips, 

 and onion sets; the southeast, to white beans and sunflowers; the northeast to 

 cabbage, and the northwest to potatoes, and in later years tomatoes were added. 

 All the labor after })lowing was done by hand, and while this garden was usually 

 the best in the vicinity I do not think any cauliflower, celery, salsify, Lima 

 beans or even sweet corn ever ventured within its enclosure during my minor- 

 ity, and the strawberries we had were white and few at that. I remember once 

 when quite young, a gentleman came along with colored plates of very fine 

 looking red strawberries, and my father gave half a dollar for three or six 

 plants, but they never produced much fruit, and were probably a pistillate 

 variety. There was nothing peculiar about the soil of this garden only that it 

 abounded in angle worms and purslane, and I have often thought that the old 

 lady who said that the pig which rooted over the hen coop was as "mean as 

 pusley," showed a remarkable aptess in her comparison. 



My father used to say that the best way to destroy purslane was to cut it off 

 just below the top of the ground, for if pulled up it would grow whether out or 

 in the ground, roots down or up. I have learned since that the very best way 

 to destroy it is to stir the soil just as soon as the little red leaves can be seen 

 peeping out of the ground. I will say no more about the garden of my 

 nativity only that my father was in too feeble health to work in the field con- 

 stantly, but managed to care well for the garden, and the requisites for a good 

 farmer's garden have heretofore seemed to be not only suitable soil, but an 

 industrious old patriarch, who was not able to work in the field, but would 

 look well after the garden. 



I have heard men that were called good farmers, and who grew abundant 

 field crops, say that they could buy their "small fruits and garden stuff cheaper 

 than they could raise it," and just so long as any farmer believes this, just so 

 long will he be without a good garden. If we pass through the country what 

 do we usually find as an apology for a farmer's garden? More often it is the 

 poorest plat of ground near the house, one-half planted to potatoes and the 

 rest to beans, cucumbers, and cabbage, with a border of currant bushes 

 interspersed with burdocks and thistles. There are very many vegetables not 

 only gratifying to the taste, but nourishing and conducive to health, which 

 are seldom attempted to be grown in the ordinary garden. 



With the facilities for obtaining good seeds at the present day, and the illus- 

 trated and descriptive catalogues scattered so profusely, and giving minute 

 directions for making hot beds, planting and cultivation, no one who desires a 

 good garden need go far astray. The only criticism I have to offer regarding 

 these very complete catalogues is that the descriptions are so skillfully worded 

 that a novice will imagine every variety to be the best, and have a desire to do 

 as the countryman did with the bill of fare at the Sherman House, in Chicago, 

 — take in everything as he went along. 



The great trouble is that most farmers consider the garden as a kind of 



