468 



GARDENERS' CHRONICLE 



ony of its o\\ n. To such adaptations are often due the 

 patches and ckunps of plants to be found in undisturbed 

 Nature. In contrast to the modifications alreadv men- 

 tioned, these latter do not usually depend upon parts 

 detached from the parent plant, Init instead are. one 

 might say, mere extensions of the original individual. A 

 single strawberry plant in favorable situation will soon 

 be surrounded by a colony of plants which are essen- 

 tially parts of itself, produced by the familiar runners. 

 A species of saxifrage is known as "Mother of thousands" 

 from a similar method of multiplying. 



The stems of plants most frequently take part is this 

 vegetative multiplication and distribution of plants. The 

 rhizome or rootstock is a typical example. Lying hori- 

 zontally in the soil it increases in length at one end and 

 as constantly dies at the other. By this process, in the 

 course of a few years, though the original plant ntav still 

 be in the locality, it is not in the same place. When such 

 rhizomes branch, these latter soon become separated from 

 it by the decay of the main stem and thus form the "fairy 

 ring's" most familiar in the case of certain fungi, but 

 common in other forms of plants. Tubers are merelv 

 the enlarged tips of underground stems. 



\ typical Inilb has very little about it to suggest a run- 



ner or tuber but bulbous plants often indicate the con- 

 nection. Some species, for instance, send out long under- 

 ground runners which form bulbs at their tips. The 

 adder's-togue or Erythronmm has this habit. There is 

 also a great variety of above-ground stems that root at 

 the tips as in the case of the black raspberry. The walk- 

 ing fern goes further and produces new plants where 

 the tips of the Jeaves touch the earth. The Bryopliylluin 

 and some Begonias produce numerous new plants from 

 the edges of the leaves and in our own region the com- 

 mon sundew multiplies in this way. 



A number of plants, of which the cottonwood is a good 

 example, cut of¥ some of their twigs in Autumn in a man- 

 ner similar to that in which the leaves are cast. These 

 twigs, washed into suitable situations by the streams, 

 may take root and grow. Some of the water plants im- 

 prove on this by cutting oft their tips gorged with food 

 which sink to the bottom of the water and renew the 

 plant the next season. ^Meanwhile, the plants, frozen in 

 the ice usually die. 



The little duckmeats, so connnon on the surface of 

 quiet pools in Summer, always produce hibernacula of 

 this kind, and though the smallest of flowering plants, 

 rarely reproduce by means of seeds. 



February Birds 



PAUL B. RlIS 



IT is ever darkest before dawn. The great frozen out- 

 doors. Nature's own workshop, looks rifled and worn, 

 its wintry monotony is palling the weary soul. The 

 pure whiteness of snowflake and frozen crystals, the 

 invigorating wintry air have lost tltfe erstwhile charms 

 of an old and refreshing acquaintanceship. The for- 

 tunes of Winter have been cast, the season stands out 

 prominently on a grim and unyielding record. Now we 

 are but merely waiting to check off its closing days, which 

 perhaps, have spent their fury, and may grow mellow and 

 repentant, softening at heart, and betraying within the 

 generous soul of a masterful element. Inexplicable warm 

 spells have closely followed on the heels of days of un- 

 usual severity. But severe Winters do not indicate warm 

 Springs, any more than an early Spring should follow 

 anv early Winter. Extremes in seasonal changes follow 

 invariably, but the regime of a severe Winter may be a 

 long drawn out one, and long past due its regular and 

 lawful term. Sometimes it happens that Nature's forces 

 l_>ecome disorganized and demoralized, tmtil in some way 

 they are again able to strike their equilibrium. 



But to the Nature student, February is the crest of the 

 wave, breaking in playful spray, setting again into mo- 

 tion the silent machinery of Nature's workshop. The 

 true reawakening of life from the icy grip of death marks 

 the early days of the month, the gradual waning of Win- 

 ter and the gradual transition of death into life. A rosy 

 dawn suffuses the white robe of purity of Mother Earth, 

 heralding the returning circulation of the stream of life. 

 The buds of the large toothed Aspen are swelling w'ith 

 the throb of renev.-ed functions within, the red buds of 

 Haw and Thorn have grown scarlet, showing vivid 

 against the smoky outline of their stratified frames, The 

 Elms and Maples, too, feel the reawakening from their 

 slumber, their finely etched twigs showing dark and dense 

 against the billowy outline of the snowclouds. The Junco. 

 too, glad of the imperceptible change, twitters more hap- 

 pih'. The tree sparrow we hear as Chapman savs, "their 

 chorus of merry tinkling notes like sparkling frost crys- 

 tals turned to music." 



How daintily the cedar wa.xwing or even the rarer 



evening grosbeak pluck the red berries of the bittersweet, 

 the bluejay extracting the meat of the acorn and the 

 chickadee and the nuthatches relishing the seed from the 

 upstanding stalks of wild hemp. 



Horned larks and prairie horned larks are twittering 

 in increasing numbers, and redpolls are gamboling about 

 everywhere in loose flocks with the wing sweep and care- 

 free note of the goldfinch. The great horned owd of the 

 dismal swamp is again engaged in wooing his life's part- 

 ner, and the big hawks, too, are pairing. But there are 

 also newcomers. Spring birds and old friends, to arrive 

 a little later, travelers from a sunnier and more generous 

 clime, the early bluebirds. Stray fragments of their 

 poetical strain may be heard from fence post and shrub- 

 grown meadows any time after the twentieth and quite 

 often, too, the happy carol of robin redbreast helps to 

 belie the tardiness of departing \\'inter. Reluctantl)- we 

 note the early arrival of the bluebirds, misguided by the 

 approaching Spring in their Winter quarters, but they 

 come to us, to soften the lingering departure of King 

 Boreas. They appear like messengers of hope, pouring 

 out their faith in their incomparable warble, the joyous 

 and gladsome notes of a generous victor, pleading with 

 us to be patient but yet a little while. Their arrival 

 has also been prompted by the reawakening of life within, 

 the kindling of the mating instinct to come north to their 

 breeding grounds, homes which once held their cradles. 



With the return of the season of life, the arrival of 

 birds, the gradual swelling and unfolding of buds, there 

 are revealed to us other mysteries of life, each one more 

 wonderful than the other, passing by in a never ending 

 succession of kaleidoscopic splendor. The simple gifts of 

 late Winter are rarer and more precious to us than the 

 lavish offerings of May and June, they constitute the 

 offerings of a convalescent, gathering strength and 

 volume with the return of the awakening rays of Spring 

 sunshine. They gladden the heart with their sheer sim- 

 plicity, in wonderful contrast to the harsh and cruel 

 dominance of boreas. They are gifts of compassion, of 

 a sympathetic spirit, a compensation for the weeks of 

 \-earning to a longing soul. 



