68 Success with Small Fruits. 



In the rear of my place there was a third drainage problem very 

 different from either of the other two. My farm runs back to the rise of 

 the mountain, whose edge it skirts for some distance. It thus receives 

 at times much surface water. At the foot of the mountain-slope, there 

 are about three acres of low alluvial soil that was formerly covered with 

 a coarse, useless herbage of the swamp. Between the meadow and the 

 slope of the mountain, "the town" built a " boulevard" (marked I I on 

 the map), practically "cribbing" an acre or two of land. Ahab, who 

 needed Naboth's vineyard for public purposes, is the spiritual father of all 

 "town boards." 



At the extreme end of the farm, and just beyond the alluvial 

 ground, was the channel of a brook (marked J). Its stony bed, through 

 which trickled a rill, had a very innocent aspect on the October day 

 when we looked the farm over and decided upon its purchase. The 

 rill ran a little way on my grounds, then crept under the fence and skirted 

 my western boundary for several hundred yards. On reaching a rise of 

 land, it re-entered my place and ran obliquely across it. It thus inclosed 

 three sides of the low, bushy meadow I have named. Its lower channel 

 across the place had been stoned up with the evident purpose of keeping 

 it within limits ; but the three or four feet of space between the walls had 

 become obstructed by roots, bushes, vines and debris in general. With 

 the exception of the stony bed where it first entered the farm, most of 

 its course was obscured by overhanging bushes and the sere, rank 

 herbage of autumn. 



In a vague way, I felt that eventually something would have to be 

 done to direct this little child of the mountain into proper ways, and to 

 subdue the spirit of the wilderness that it diffused on every side. I had its 

 lower channel across the place (K K) cleared out, thinking that this might 

 answer for the present ; and the gurgle of the little streamlet along the 

 bottom of the ditch seemed a low laugh at the idea of its ever filling the 

 three square feet of space above it. Deceitful little brook! Its innocent 

 babble contained no suggestion of its hoarse roar on a March day, the fol- 

 lowing spring, as it tore its way along, scooping the stones and gravel from 

 its upper bed and scattering them far and wide over the alluvial meadow. 

 Instead of a tiny rill, I found that I would have to cope at times with 

 a mountain torrent. At first, the task was too heavy, and the fitful- 

 tempered brook, and the swamp-like region it encompassed, were left 

 for years to their old wild instincts. At last the increasing demands of 

 my business made it necessary to have more arable land, and I saw that, 

 if I could keep it from being overwhelmed with water and gravel, the 

 alluvial meadow was just the place for strawberries. 



