68 MY GROWING GARDEN 



hanging from them. My pet weed, the columbine 

 — and I will explain this later — is just making its 

 bow, and the rain causes interesting action in such 

 of its flowers as are opening. 



Planting there has been, all April; but there 

 are also some results, and the garden is very much 

 alive as May days impend. The table has had its 

 first asparagus, and the forced rhubarb-stalks, 

 forced as I have previously noted, in total darkness, 

 are delicious. There is for the eye and for the 

 nostrils a feast now spread, and the palate has its 

 pleasures as well. All is right with the season and 

 the growing garden. 



