THE DESERT AND THE ROSE 109 



as growing alfalfa produced the same results, only 

 better. 



Sunflowers ? Stand just once with me some early- 

 June morning at the head of a long, five deep row 

 of Russian sunflowers, all with radiant faces turned 

 eastward. The gold-flecked vista closes in a wealth 

 of green — the heavy, rounded masses of the umbrel- 

 la tree, the airy feathers of the tree of paradise — 

 birds, scarlet flames and scimitars of blue, or once 

 in a while a yellow flaxbird, leap and dart hither 

 and thither. And beyond and above all is the 

 azure — the unutterable, unpaintable azure — of 

 southern sky and mountain. 



Have we no soft loveliness, no depth of color in 

 the Arid Belt? 



On first landing in the Valley I was warned that 

 flowers, garden flowers, "do not do well in this coun- 

 try." Why not? quoth I to myself — the same note 

 of interrogation as when informed that thorough- 

 bred chickens would not pay. They paid me 40%. 

 But that little tale can wait. 



In the day ere water was lavishly bestowed one 

 had to take trouble to ensure a blooming garden. 

 Soil and climate are peculiarly favorable, especially 

 to roses who, as everyone knows, delight in rich 

 land. But right here we bump against that ancient 

 and untruthful adage about genius and trouble. I 

 am no genius; therefore it behooves me to take 

 trouble. A couple of my acquaintances possessed of 

 flower-genius labor little and are rewarded beyond 

 their deserts by the spendid floral displays for which 

 I have to toil, yet of which I am so proud, not to 



