92 GARDENING WITH BRAINS '^ 



Canon of Arizona, halfway down to the Colorado 

 River, when our camp was surrounded by a 

 tangle of wild grapes in full bloom. 



A similar tangle surrounds a huge bowlder 

 (possibly deposited by a Mount Washington gla- 

 cier a million years ago — quien sabe?) which is 

 one of the chief ornaments of my present summer 

 home. Its fragrance is at this moment wafted 

 to the window at which I write. The rose bugs 

 have always eaten its blossoms ravenously, and 

 to this we have been attributing the fact that 

 we never have any wild grapes for preserving 

 as we did in such abundance on Mark Twain's 

 estate in Redding, Connecticut (those which 

 used to grow along the banks of the Andros- 

 coggin seem to have been winterkilled), but the 

 experts of the nearest government experiment 

 station inform me that I can expect no grapes 

 from such a tangle of vines. Perhaps, they 

 tell me, if we cut down the vines and started 

 fresh we might get some grapes. But we prefer 

 the abundance of fragrant blossoms even to 

 wild-grape jelly; so that settles it. 



If you are troubled by squash bugs exercise 

 on them the Lucrezia Borgian fine art of mixing 

 hellebore with flour and dusting it on the young 

 plants. Strange what a passion all these pesti- 

 lential creatures have for completely extermin- 

 ating what they like best. A farmer once told 

 me he had just replanted his cucumbers and 

 pumpkins for the third time. He apparently 



