112 Hardy Plants for Cottage Gardens 
I have long pondered the question of when a plant actually 
dies. Surely not when its stalk is cut, for often the severed 
stalk holds its bloom and opens new buds for days after. 
Your arm makes no growth when it is cut off; so here is a 
new condition. Growth is the accompaniment of life and 
life is but a manifestation of the Spirit: but where does the 
Spirit reside? Both root and stalk may grow when the latter 
is severed, and single buds may be stripped from the stalk 
and later open into flower. At what point then does the 
residing Spirit wholly withdraw itself so that we may say, 
it is dead? Because I cannot answer this question, cut 
flowers become a painful responsibility to me. As long as 
there is a semblance of life in a single blossom, it is still a 
precious abode of divine energy, and the sad obsequy of 
throwing away cut flowers devolves upon Adam, who has a 
reasonable dislike of faded, offensive things. I want to be 
very sure that decomposition has set in, as that is our only 
proof of death, before I consign it to a final resting-place 
under a lilac bush: it is torture to see it cremated. 
Once I had to wait at a railroad station for a delayed train, 
and I studied the condition of life and death presented in the 
form of a lively locust-tree growing by the side of a telegraph 
pole. First I noticed the points of correspondence between 
the two, their contact with the soil, both were subject to the 
influence of the elements, both were alike in a woody tissue, 
in erect position, and equal in height. Ah, but the differ- 
ences! One was stiff and inert, a rigid monument of an 
outlived past; the other lightly bent and swayed with every 
wind. Responding to its environment the tree sent forth its 
tender green leaves in friendly greeting to sun and rain, 
while to the pole the elements were consuming enemies 
slowly gnawing with relentless tooth. One represented 
growth, progress and reproduction, every fiber was instinct 
