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THE GARDEN MAGAZINE 



October, 1907 



Hardy Indian Azaleas 



THE showiest of all azaleas are those which 

 are commonly cultivated in green- 

 houses for Christmas and Easter bloom, and 

 the bulk of these are varieties of Azalea 

 Indica. The name "Indica," however, is 

 a misnomer as the plant is really native to 

 China and Japan. Unhappily, the hardy 

 varieties of this species have smaller flowers 

 and fewer colors than the tender kinds, but 

 we should be thankful for what we have, as 

 azaleas may fairly be called the showiest 

 of all spring-blooming shrubs. The com- 

 monest of the hardy Indian azalea is Azalea 

 Indica, var. amazna, which is generally called 

 by nurserymen Azalea a?noena. The picture 

 on this page shows the profusion with which 

 it blooms at the estate of Mr. Paul Dana, 

 Dosoris, L. I. It is a part of a hedge that 

 is about 200 feet long, and there is, perhaps, 

 no larger display of the same kind in our 

 Northern States. The only drawback to this 

 azalea is that its color is too strong for some 

 people — magenta-purple — but there is a 

 white-flowered variety of it called Miss Buist, 

 and Prime Minister is said to be a soft pink. 

 This species does well as far north as NewYork 

 but is not reliably hardy in New England. 



The only evergreen azalea that does well 

 in New England is what the nurserymen 

 call Azalea Indica, var. alba. According to 

 the Cyclopedia of American Horticulture, 

 this is really a variety of the rosemary-leaved 



azalea (A. rosmarinjolia), a species, which, 

 however, is distinguished from Azalea Indica 

 by merely botanical characters. The white 

 rosemary-leaved azalea has flowers about 

 two inches across in clusters of about five, 

 and the blossoms are evergreen. 



Connecticut. Henry Maxwell. 



An Experience as a Farm Hand 



THERE has been much ridicule in the 

 daily press of late years of the college 

 man who attempts to fill in his vacation 

 by hiring as a farmhand during harvest 

 time when anything in the shape of two hands 

 is acceptable. 



I started out from New Orleans and 

 followed the Mississippi's east bank to 

 Donaldsonville, where I crossed, and then 

 the right bank of Bayou La Fourche to 

 Thibodeaux, thence across the low-timbered 

 country to Schriever and Morgan City. 

 From there the roads were good, following 

 more or less the Southern Pacific railroad to 

 my destination, Crowley, the centre of the 

 rice district. I had a fine trip, did not sleep 

 in a bed or eat a meal in a house, and made 

 record time — almost 300 miles in five days. 

 The team pulled through in good shape. 



On the morning after my arrival I obtained 

 work about one-half a mile from town, and 

 worked from 1 p. m. till dark with a pitchfork, 

 throwing the bundled rice from one stack 

 down to the butt of another where it was 

 passed on to the feedboard of the separator. 

 When the whistle mercifully blew the setting 

 was finished and I was out of a job. My 

 hands were blistered and at the last were 

 sticking to the fork handle. I had learned 

 that it was just as hard to lift a forkful while 

 standing on it as it would be to lift oneself 

 over a stream by the bootstraps, and I had 

 earned six bits (75c). 



The following day was spent in sweet oil 

 and in looking up a threshing machine liable 

 to have a long run. Such a machine was 

 found, and about 8 o'clock the next morning 

 I presented myself at the farmhouse. The 



not reliably hardy north of New York 



farmer was just hitching up his buggy to go 

 out to the outfit, the crew of which were 

 just getting up steam. Well, no, he did not 

 need anybody, but, after again looking me 

 over, I might go with him to see her start up. 

 Maybe I could do something. 



At the separator there was much scurrying 

 around, and, without permission or request, 

 I jumped into the melee, sometimes on my 

 back under the separator, and sometimes up, 

 tinkering with the stacker gear. Eventually 

 the farmer's better judgment was set aside 

 and he detailed me with a team to haul in 

 the bundle rice from the shocks in the field. 

 Perhaps fortunately for me, the self-feeder 

 refused to handle the grain, and after taking 

 it off and feeding by hand the straw began 

 wrapping around the cylinder and over- 

 heating its bearings so that very little hauling 

 was necessary; the loaded wagons were 

 drawn up and we worried about the machine. 



Meanwhile, the sacksewer, who is paid 

 by the sack, became disgusted and left the 

 outfit. The farmer was worried and when 

 I offered to help out, he, probably thinking 

 I could not do worse at that than anything 

 else, allowed me to try it. Again the wrap- 

 ping cylinder was my salvation, as for several 

 days they were forced to run very slowly and 

 I was enabled to catch the knack so that when 

 a normal speed was reached I could hold 

 up my end. Sewing rice into sacks is not a 

 sinecure although it looks very easy. The 

 sewer stands away from the machine twenty- 

 five or thirty feet — sometimes a hundred if 

 grain is likely to accumulate before hauling 

 — and the sacked grain is brought to him 

 on the run by two husky sackdraggers. The 

 sewer must grasp the sack first by the sides 

 and then by the "ears," lifting and shaking 

 each time. This stretches it so that it will 

 meet at the top and allow for sewing, which 

 must be well done as the sacked grain is 

 handled rather roughly and if poorly sewed 

 a loss of rice would result. 



At the end of the first week the machine 

 was running smoothly and turning out 

 from three hundred to four hundred sacks 

 per day. The planter was short on men 

 and teams and was unable to keep the 

 rice hauled away as it was threshed, so every 

 evening the eight wagons would be loaded 

 each with twenty sacks of rice and volunteers 

 would drive them to the warehouse in town 

 after supper. I was always anxious to make 

 the extra money and each night was placed 

 in charge of the outfit. We were paid fifty 

 cents for the trip and those who wished could 

 bring back a load of coal making twenty-five 

 cents more. I thus made fairly good wages 

 for in addition to my board I was paid at the 

 rate of $1 per hundred for the sack sewing, 

 but it was long hours and hard work. This 

 crop ran about 6,000 sacks and when finished 

 I was asked to stay with the machine on its 

 itinerary and when the rice harvest was over 

 I was in rugged health and was about $200 

 better off than when I started, had acquired 

 an experience worth a great deal, and had 

 the reputation of being one of the swiftest 

 sacksewers in the rice belt, able to shake 

 down and sew the sacks as they came at the 

 rate of three per minute. W. H. R. 



