STATE POMOLOGICAL SOCIETY. 83 



DIFFICULTIES OF FRLHT CULTURE. 



Perhaps you may infer from what I have read you that there have 

 been no obstacles in the way of fruit growing on my acre lot, but I 

 can assure you there have been a great many. The sunny hill-sides 

 protected from the cold north winds suggests to the passer by that the*^ 

 location is splendid. But because of its favorable position hordes of 

 insect pests seem to gather there Irom miles around. The curculios 

 have taken all my plums thus far, the borers have killed several of my 

 apple trees, the currant worms have made their presence known not 

 only in the springtime but all through the summer, the codlin moth 

 knows where every one of my apple trees is aud they seem to enjoy 

 leaving their hidden retreats when I am slumbering and when the fruit 

 falls from the tree, I find the evidence of their mischief within the 

 core ; the Trypeta pomoneJla tunnels its way through my best sweet 

 apples and early fruit, the white grub worm beneath the surface eats 

 away at the roots of the strawberry plants, and the first intimation 

 I have of his presence is the death of the plant. The robins have 

 eaten my cherries and something kills my pear trees. Don't tor a 

 moment allow yourselves to think success in fruit growing is assured to 

 any one without labor aud constant care, but the fruit more than pays 

 us for our labor in the pleasure and healtli it gives. 1 always thought 

 Farmington was an exceptionally good and virtuous town, and I am 

 happy to say that during my seven years of fruit growing to our 

 knowledge nothing has ever been stolen from the garden. In other 

 places many have suffered from thieves and lost their best fruit. The 

 boys know where my garden is, they know it contains fruit when there 

 is fruit anywhere ; there are no watch-dogs about the premises, neither 

 is the lot surrounded by a "spiked fence," the children, too, know, for 

 many of them visit us and pla}' around among the flowers and fruits, 

 but somehow, for some reason I know not, unless it be in the general 

 excellence of their moral training, they have honored our possessions 

 and permitted us to enjoy the fruits of our labor. 



One of the most delightful books I ever read is Warner's "My 

 Summer in a Garden," and tliinking you may enjoy some variation 

 from my monotonous notion of fruit growing, I will read, in closing, a 

 few paragraphs of his experience. 



'•There would be no thieves if there was notliing to steal ; and I suppose 

 in the thieves' catecliisni the provider is as bad as the thief; aud proliably 

 I am to blame for leaving out a few winter pears, wliich some pre(]:itory 

 boy carried off on Sunday. At first I was angry, and said I would like to 



