82 THE FAT OF THE LAND 
There is little question as to the wisdom of 
planting trees of kinds known to have done well 
in your neighborhood. They are just as likely 
to do well by you as by your neighbor. If the 
fruit be to your liking, you can safely plant, for 
it is no longer an experiment; some one else has 
broken that ground for you. 
In casting about for a reliable nurseryman to 
whom to trust the very important business of 
supplying me with young trees, I could not long 
keep my attention diverted from Rochester, New 
York. Perhaps the reason was that as a child I 
had frequently ridden over the plank road from 
Henrietta to Rochester, and my memory recalled 
distinctly but three objects on that road, — the 
house of Frederick Douglass, Mount Hope Ceme- 
tery, and a nursery of young trees. Everything 
else was obscure. I fancy that in fifty years the 
Douglass house has disappeared, but Mount Hope 
Cemetery and the tree nursery seem to mock at 
time. The soil and climate near Rochester are 
especially favorable to the growing of young 
trees, and my order went to one of the many 
reliable firms engaged in this business. The 
order was for thirty-four hundred trees, — 
twenty-seven hundred for the forty-acre orchard 
and seven hundred for the ten acres farthest to 
the south on the home lot. Polly had consented 
to this invasion of her domain, for reasons. She 
said? a 
“It is a long way off, rather flat and unin- 
ee ee te ee ee ee ee: 
