The Ragged Month 6g 



The fallow ground lay next it, running 

 broadside to it indeed. There was a worm- 

 fence between — a line fence, rightly charge- 

 able as much to one field as the other, though 

 Major Baker had kept it up the ten years 

 past. Upon his side, the corners were un- 

 picturesquely clean, but those opposite made 

 up for the fact. They were ablaze with yel- 

 low, and purple and scarlet. Golden-rod, 

 ironweed, early asters, Spanish needles, white 

 sumach grew tall there and rampant — higher 

 than a tall man's head. Bents of the barrens 

 grass also — as lusty as in the pioneer days, 

 when it covered the whole face of the earth, 

 and could be tied over a horse's neck as a 

 rider threaded it. Occasionally there were 

 sedge clumps, not quite so tall as the grass. 

 Sedge loves the light earth of a hedge-row but 

 cannot live in the thick shade. 



Many other things love it. A fence-row 

 is indeed the chosen haunt of vagrant woody 

 stems. Elder bushes, hazels, wild cherries, 

 wild roses, wild grapes, seedling apples, black- 

 thorns, peach-trees, and selfsown honeysuckles 

 disputed ground in this hedgerow with the 

 legions and cohorts of sassafras and black- 

 berry. Joe loved the sights and sounds and 

 smells of the hedgerow. His plough crept 

 near and nearer it each day. He was glad it 

 had been spared so long — partly on his own 



