THROUGH THE GARDEN GATE 



sAutfior of^MyS'arcferi'ancf t $orf?urmJtfy3arcferi w 



And earth unto her finger tips 

 Tingles with the spring. 



— Wm. Watson 



April Days 



Surely these April days are the best of all the 

 year in the garden; so full of bird song are they, 

 of bursting buds and frail flowers, of green things 

 thrusting through the mold and the warm fra- 

 grance of newly turned earth. Even the April 

 rains are more beneficent and delightful than any 

 others. I once had an old gardener who always 

 spoke of the April rains as "these 'ere drawin' 

 showers," and it does seem as if one could fairly 

 see the plants being drawn forth without any 

 volition of their own. To me this is the season 

 when I am most loath to work. My desire is to 

 lag — if the comfortable word may be so used — 

 up and down the garden paths just seeing, and 

 feeling and smelling, and the knowledge that 

 everything is needing to be done does not seem 

 to dim the desire. There is so much one wants to 

 know, too. What has been the effect upon the 

 plants of this strangely restrained winter? how 

 have the Alpines weathered it and have the Tea 

 Roses died of astonishment? what is going on in 

 the corner where the new Lilies were set out, and 

 which old friends must we mourn? Nor is idle- 

 ness, now and again, such bad practice in a gar- 

 den. If we rake and spray and pursue the slug all 

 of our waking hours our minds become obscessed 

 with the probability of trouble and our eyes 

 are blinded to the small lovelinesses and ecstatic 

 happenings that the garden gets up for our de- 

 light. In a one time suburban experience I had 

 a neighbor who could look out of her second story 

 window into my garden, and did I ever sink down 

 upon my comfortable garden seat for a moment's 

 rest her voice would ring out from above, "Dear 

 me, I wish I had time to just sit in my garden. 

 Just see how the Chickweed grows in that west 

 border of yours!" Well, I am glad I can sit in 

 my garden and not see the Chickweed — some 

 times. Gardens are intended primarily for our 

 delight, and when we cannot go into them without 

 looking for trouble it is a sign that our nerves 

 are out of kilter, or that some other vocation — 

 housemaiding — for instance, is more in our line. 



Old Reliables 



Last month Mr. May made an eloquent plea 

 for a greater use of hardy perennials, and gave a 

 comprehensive list of varieties that will carry us 

 gaily through the growing season. Of course we 

 would not shut out all annuals, but as Mr. May 

 said, the "old reliables" should be the foundation 

 of the garden. It was these tested old friends, 

 long resident in the same beds and borders that 

 gave to the gardens of long ago their special at- 

 mosphere and charm. Lingering in my mind is 

 this phrase, read somewhere of an old fashioned 

 garden; "a place of leisurely aristocratic old roots 

 and carefully conducted flowers. " What a pleas- 

 ant picture is invoked for us; sheltered banks 

 where Snowdrops in great clumps and sweet white 

 Violets bloom early; where Daffodils in mass 

 formation crowd beneath the old fruit trees whose 

 gnarled branches reach across the borders and 

 narrow paths; where Johnny-jump-ups ' carpet 

 the ground beneath great bushes of old-fashioned 

 Roses, and Peonies have waxed fat and opulent 

 through long lives of peace and comfort. Here 



we should find mats of fragrant Thyme and Mar- 

 joram, thickets of double Campion and Mullein 

 Pink and long lines of Purple Flags, and here 

 slender-stemmed Larkspurs, single Hollyhocks 

 and little round bitter-sweet Chrysanthemums. 

 How surely we should know where to turn for 

 Lilies-of-the-valley in May or for the frail bubbles 

 of the Autumn Crocus: when to expect the first 

 Moss Rosebud or white Lilac plume. It is a 

 place, in short, with all of whose moods and ways 

 we are familiar, that has "the suggestion of perma- 

 nence, of length of days and generations of men." 

 In sharp contrast is such a garden to the many 

 of to-day that boast not one hospitable tree and 

 where patient beds of bare brown earth await the 

 rows of tender annuals that will be set out when 

 all danger of frost is past. In our thirst for a con- 

 tinuous performance in the garden many a fine 

 old perennial is pushed aside and many a fine 

 native ignored. Garden Heliotrope is a beautiful 

 plant that has quite gone out of fashion, and one 

 seldom sees Sweet Rocket, double or single, or 

 the old Bachelors' Buttons or Fair-maids-of- 

 France so good for cutting, and Moss and China 

 and Cabbage Roses have not even been heard 

 of by many a smart modern gardener. 



"Here's Rosemary For You!" 



"Rosemary becomes a window well," wrote 

 a gardener more than three hundred years ago, 

 and so it does to-day though few seem to know it. 

 I happened upon the knowledge quite by accident 

 and after many and various attempts to induce 

 the hoary, fragrant southerner to live in my cold 

 garden. No gardener can browse in old horti- 

 cultural literature or wander in old world gardens 

 and not want to grow Rosemary, so long loved 

 and so intimately associated with the lives of 

 gardening humanity. Its very name — Ros- 

 marinus, Dew of the Sea — is quite charming 

 enough in itself to make one want it; and how 

 pleasant it is to read that it grows so plentifully 

 along the shores and sandy slopes of the Mediter- 

 ranean that "the odor of it is many times smelt 

 by those in the ships that passe by many leagues 

 off from the land." I wanted it very much 

 indeed to set between my other herbs and when 

 I read in the little leather-bound volume with 

 stained yellow pages that it became a window 

 well I, like Sentimental Tommy, "saw a way." 

 That autumn all the Rosemary seedlings were 

 potted up in light sandy loam and placed in a 

 sunny window and how they grew and prospered! 

 They spread out their dusty looking branches 

 and multiplied their sweet-scented, narrow leaves, 

 most certainly pleased with the arrangement. 



In the spring they were repotted to accommo- 

 date their increased size and the pots sunk in a 

 sunny border where grew Thyme, Lavender and 

 Marjoram. This winter they are stout little 

 bushes, and it is most delightful to stand before 

 their pleasant gray-greenery invoking the 

 quick, spicy fragrance by a touch as we look 

 out upon a white winter world. 



The plants seem heir to none of the insect 

 pests or diseases that harry the lives of many 

 house plants and seem to demand no special 

 consideration beyond being kept on the side of 

 dryness — watered only about twice a week and 

 then thoroughly. And they, of course, require 

 a sunny window. 



Patching the Borders 



If there are blanks to be filled in the neigh- 

 borhood of Sea-hollies or Globe-thistles, nothing 

 is prettier for the purpose than the pure pink 

 Zinnia known as Farquhar's Rose Pink. The 

 blue and silver color scheme of the perennials 

 is in fine accord with the peculiarly lovely color 



113 



tone of the Zinnias, and the latter continue to 

 bloom long after the Globe-thistles and Sea-hol- 

 ies have ceased to be ornamental. 



A fine annual for patching is Salvia horminium 

 Bluebeard. The plant grows about eighteen 

 inches tall and throws up many stems of strong 

 blue-violet floral leaves that are extremely decor- 

 ative, and continue to develop throughout the 

 summer and autumn. This deep blue-violet 

 color produces a very rich effect in association 

 with such brilliant Phloxes as Baron von Dedem 

 or Coquelicot. It is also charming in the neigh- 

 borhood of Sea-lavenders and rose and white 

 Physostegias. The seed is hardy and may be 

 sown early and when once established in the 

 garden the plants self-sow freely and there are 

 always many thrifty young plants on hand for 

 use in the spring. 



Another annual for this purpose, and it seems 

 little known, is the Cape Anchusa (Anchusa 

 capensis). It has all the good characteristics of 

 its popular family including the drought resisting 

 powers and the coerulean color, but it is smaller 

 in all its parts, growing not more than eighteen 

 inches tall and having narrow leaves. Set out 

 near to clumps of Gypsophila its sky-blue blos- 

 soms show through the misty flowering of the 

 Chalk Plant in a way to charm the most disparag- 

 ing eye. It blooms all summer until frost, and 

 self sows freely. 



The Pasque Flower 



One of the most lovely flowers of the early 

 spring is surely the Pasque-flower (Anemone 

 Pulsatilla). The plants grow but a few inches 

 in height and are covered all over with long silky 

 hairs. The large pale purple blossoms are each 



One of the earliest blue flowers of spring is the Pasque-flower 

 (Anemone Pulsatilla) of which there is a^ine native counterpart 

 in A Nuttalliana 



surrounded by a collarette of the most delicate 

 and feathery green that creates a delightful setting 

 for them. They are native throughout Europe 

 and are found in dry, chalky soil in open places. 

 There are pale lilac and white forms also and if 

 fresh seed may be procured they are easily and 

 quickly raised from seed. The Pasque-flowers 

 are fine in the rock garden but thrive equally well 

 at the edge of a dry, well drained border. 



I am interested to note^in the catalogue of a 

 Western collector, Anemone patens Nuttalliana, 

 the American Pasque-flower, and wonder if any 

 reader has tried this sort. Anemone globosa, 

 the Red Anemone is also offered by the same col- 

 lector. This plant has lived in my garden for 

 several years but has not yet bloomed. I am 

 hoping for better behavior this spring. 



