172 



GARDENERS' CHROI^ICLE 



introduction of whichever ot these elements is foreign to 

 the environment. Where design or its absence is con- 

 sciouslv blended with surrounding conditions, and all 

 skillfullv harmonized, a garden arises. 



\\'herever love is there is a garden, but it must be the 

 love that cares and provides and considers all contrib- 

 utino- asi^ects. Xc one can build a garden m a smgle 

 year^ In fact age gives a tone to a garden that can not 

 be produced bv man. 



And here the individuality of the gardener havnig ex- 

 pressed itself meets the competition of the individuality 

 of the garden. Conditions of soil, drainage, situation, 

 climate "and surrounding vegetation all seriously affect 

 the plans of the gardener and make themselves felt ad- 

 versely or favorably. 



When we start to plan our garden we are flushed with 

 dreams and ideals. I was about to say "hectic," and I 

 do not know but that is closer to the truth. We are led 

 on and temjjted by the catalogs for which nothing is dif- 

 ficult but all is be'.uil!ful and luxuriant. l'"or the writers 

 of these there is no drought and no wet spell. They 

 never saw an aphid, or any other pest, and as to failure 

 to bloom, well, that only happens with the stock of other 

 nurserymen. So that our eager visions are enflamed by 

 what we read in the catalogs. .\nd we start to build. We 

 conceive a picture of lovely lawns and shading trees 

 amidst which we can sit and enjoy the lovely bloom of 

 our new garden. We plan great masses of sumptuous, 

 tall growing flowers, against relieving backgrounds of 

 the fresh green of shrubbery, and fringed with delicate 

 edgings. Erraceful and colorful. But when we have 

 planned and planted we learn that the shrubs rob the soil, 

 at the expense of the flowering plants, their roots trespass 

 and encroach, and the larger plants crowd out and over- 

 shadow the smaller. Our plans are rent asunder, and— 

 we start afresh. 



.■\gain we plant a variety of things, carefully chosen 

 from the long lists, ensuing a succession of bloom, subtle 

 contrasts of color and size, and then we find that condi- 

 tions that suit some, do not suit others, our bloom is 

 neither continuous nor well blended and we must plan 

 again. 



The garden, too, has its say, and until we have studied 

 and reworked our schemes, until we have conquered, in 

 one way or another, these obstacles we are not content. 

 But the true gardener goes on, year after year, full of 

 hope and joyful expectancy in the Spring, followed by 

 new and greater ])lans in the .\utumn. .And between these 

 seasons comes a period, usually about mid-Summer, of 

 despair and trial that too often ends the eft'ort. This 

 period comes to all. but the real gardener survives and 

 persists. .A.nd of course he never finishes. Nature and 

 time, however, outlast the best gardeners, and when left 

 alone often produce a lovely garden, perhaps not ]wr- 

 fect in its completeness, but with an added ch.irm of 

 abandon and luxuriance that wc can never hoj^e to imi- 

 tate. We often hear and read of the charm of old gar- 

 dens, but that charm we can never i)roduce, except if 

 favored with a long life at garden making. iUit we can 

 make the start, feeling that if we can never see the md 

 ourselves, some one else may. 



I have seen many such old gardens, neglected for dec- 

 ades, where no new plants have been planted for years, 

 no weeds ever pulled, no order established. Often they 

 have been almost entirely without blnom. at limes gay 

 with color. Hut always there has clung to them a quaint 

 and desolate beauty. 



In the old I'Vench quarter of Xew Orleans there are 

 many such. Wc peer through dilapidated gateways or 

 over half demolished walls. I'.ehind them we sec, in the 

 courtyards, numerous children and burdened wash lines 



that tell the tale of the gradual change fnim stately man- 

 sions to overcrowded tenements. Here is an old pave- 

 ment, discarded well, abandoned garden, rank with 

 growth, entangled with vines, and gay blossoms every- 

 where. The very desolation is its loveliness, the abandon- 

 ment its charm. 



In Charleston ( S. C.) there are many such gardens, 

 where the roses have outgrown our fondest dreams, in 

 size and bloom, where the vines are massed with yellow 

 or purple Bignonia. Wistaria never seems to bloom so 

 well as in these forsaken corners. Ivy has encroached 

 over all making a full, dull background for the brighter 

 colors. 



In Virginia, the ivy creeps from tree to tree, over the 

 roofs of the houses, runs along the ground entwining 

 great shrubs and flowers. Perennials seem to thrive the 

 better, and the annuals almost seed themselves on its 

 leaves. Amidst this overgrowth rambling walks are just 

 traceable, by the lovelv discoloration of their stone or 

 brick. 



Often these seem to be the loveliest of all gardens, even 

 where they are just a wild tangle. The care and thought 

 that laid them flourishes still, wafting the spirit of the 

 forgotten builders with the fragrance. 



I revisited recently a very old house in Xew England, 

 a charming as well as historic landmark. I recalled the 

 old garden that was an irregular, overgrown mass of en- 

 tangling plants, and asked to see it. The new occupant 

 proudly conducted me to a newly made garden. It was 

 charmingly built, with lovely walks of brick, among well 

 selected and grouped flowers and shrubs. .\ny other 

 place I would have been delighted to find so excellent a 

 garden. But despite its beauty, and choicer, greater 

 bloom, I could not but regret the charm of the old one, 

 that had been sacrificed to it. 



It is in these old gardens that we learn to know that 

 the garden too has its personality, that left to itself, it 

 allows some things to grow and si)read about, where 

 others die out, and time adds its color, not of efflorescence, 

 but of something' equally beautiful, and of a more deli- 

 cate sentiment. We cannot, as I have said, imitate this 

 effect, it is a privilege Nature keeps for herself, but we 

 can allow it some scope in our gardens, and often learn 

 thereljy. 



Occasionally a plant will seed itself and thrive better 

 than where carefully tended in greenhouse, frames, or 

 nursery. And these self-seeded plants, arising unexpect- 

 edly amidst almost anything, or in some forgotten corner, 

 are always a delightful surprise. Never have any fox- 

 gloves I have planted seemed so precious and lovely as 

 some I found that had ■'vciluntecred" on the edge of the 

 woodland. 



1 Tolls hocks to me have always demanded a particular 

 situation. They belong to small cottages, against its walls 

 or fence palings. They always have seemed out of place 

 in most formal and larger gardens. T have tried them in 

 various places, and never been pleased with the result. 

 Or when I have planted them in a place I thought ex- 

 actly suil.-ible, they have never grown. Still this .Sum- 

 mer ;i few seedlings established themselves, fullv one 

 hundred yards from anv place I had ever ]>ut them. 

 They chose the very conur end of the border, against 

 the vine clad arbor, with its heavy profusion of Dorothy 

 Perkins. There they rose, six, eight, ten feet, from the 

 midst of some ])hlox. alongside some Tlirrniolwis liiat 

 had finished blooming, and gracefuliy. ;dtliiiugh unin- 

 vited tiiok their place. To me they were the loveliest 

 bits in the garden this year, especially as they chose to 

 come in lovely delicate shades of ])ink, white and yellow 

 • — and of course single varieties. Lantlscape architects 

 {Continued on page \77) 



