ii2 Hardy Plants for Cottage Gardens 



I have long pondered the question of when a plant actually 

 dies. Surely not when its stalk is cut, for often the severed 

 stalk holds its bloom and opens new buds for days after. 

 Your arm makes no growth when it is cut off; so here is a 

 new condition. Growth is the accompaniment of life and 

 life is but a manifestation of the Spirit: but where does the 

 Spirit reside ? Both root and stalk may grow when the latter 

 is severed, and single buds may be stripped from the stalk 

 and later open into flower. At what point then does the 

 residing Spirit wholly withdraw itself so that we may say, 

 it is dead? Because I cannot answer this question, cut 

 flowers become a painful responsibility to me. As long as 

 there is a semblance of life in a single blossom, it is still a 

 precious abode of divine energy, and the sad obsequy of 

 throwing away cut flowers devolves upon Adam, who has a 

 reasonable dislike of faded, offensive things. I want to be 

 very sure that decomposition has set in, as that is our only 

 proof of death, before I consign it to a final resting-place 

 under a lilac bush : it is torture to see it cremated. 



Once I had to wait at a railroad station for a delayed train, 

 and I studied the condition of life and death presented in the 

 form of a lively locust-tree growing by the side of a telegraph 

 pole. First I noticed the points of correspondence between 

 the two, their contact with the soil, both were subject to the 

 influence of the elements, both were alike in a woody tissue, 

 in erect position, and equal in height. Ah, but the differ- 

 ences! One was stiff and inert, a rigid monument of an 

 outlived past; the other lightly bent and swayed with every 

 wind. Responding to its environment the tree sent forth its 

 tender green leaves in friendly greeting to sun and rain, 

 while to the pole the elements were consuming enemies 

 slowly gnawing with relentless tooth. One represented 

 growth, progress and reproduction, every fiber was instinct 



