The Garden Grows 19 



slender hold on life, you have my position exactly. I hold on 

 to an idea with a death grip, and by attaching to it all sorts 

 of incongruous compromises, it materializes in a form never 

 conceived; which proves that original ideas are vital organ- 

 isms, and follow their own mode of development, and you 

 meekly trail on behind. I used to think my failure with origi- 

 nal ideas was due to an excess of imagination. I now believe 

 it is due to gross ignorance of the laws that govern the mental 

 world. This enterprise proved a shining example of the 

 phoenix form such an idea takes from the ashes of one's plans. 

 For many years the rock heap had been the dumping 

 ground for coarse rakings of manure and small stones from 

 the flower beds, mulch from the vegetable garden, clippings 

 of grass from the lawn and dead leaves. These had decayed 

 and made a rich black compost. Hence, the tilling of a stone 

 heap is a very different matter from tilling the average New 

 Hampshire soil. In the former, the deeper you dig, and the 

 more stones you get out, the more light rich earth you have; 

 while in the ordinary soil the deeper you dig and the more 

 rocks you get out, the bigger the hole left. I think I come 

 close to the truth when I say our average land runs a bushel of 

 rocks to a pint of earth; and as for the quality of the earth, the 

 less said, the better it is for the reputation of New Hampshire 

 farms. Let it be understood that I am generalizing from a 

 single example, which is said to be the prerogative of genius. 

 When conversation flags in our household, I can always radi- 

 ate a genial heat by introducing casually the topic of the na- 

 tive soil. Adam rises to it like a fish to a fly, and one would 

 think we were Government experts, the way we fling our sta- 

 tistics. In his loyalty he declares New Hampshire raises more 

 corn to the acre than any State in the Union. This is met 

 with scorn; the great Western States are cited; but Adam ut- 

 terly disclaims the possibility of a yield of a hundred bushels 



