158 



THE GARDEN MAGAZINE 



April, 1910 



photograph can give no adequate idea of the 

 charming combination of phlox Pantheon, 

 with its large trusses of tall rose-pink flowers 

 against the cloudy masses of sea-holly 

 (Eryngium amethystinum). While Miss 

 Jekyll generally makes use of sea-holly in 

 a broader way, that is as a partial means of 

 transition between different colors in a large 

 border, I think it beautiful enough in itself 

 to use at nearer range (and always with pink 

 near by), in a small formal garden. Pan- 

 theon is a good phlox against it, but Fer- 

 nando Cortez, that glowing brilliant pink, 

 is better; it is the color of Coquelicot, but 

 lacking the extra touch of yellow which makes 

 the latter too scarlet a phlox for my garden. 

 To the left of the sea-holly is Achillea Ptar- 

 mica, and far beyond the tall pink phlox 

 Aurore Boreale. In figure 4 phlox Eug. 

 Danzanvilliers raises its lovely lavender heads 

 above another mass of sea-holly, a few spikes 

 of the white phlox Fraulein G. Von Lass- 

 berg appear to the left, and Chrysanthemum 

 maximum provides a brilliant contrast in 

 form and tone to its background of the 

 beautiful eryngium. 



A use of verbena which does not appear 

 in these illustrations, but which is frequently 

 made with these groupings, is as follows: 

 Below phlox Pantheon, or the Shasta daisy 

 (or Chrysanthemum maximum), whichever 

 chances to be toward the front of the plant- 

 ing, clumps of that clear warm pink ver- 

 bena Beauty of Oxford, complete a color 

 scheme in perfect fashion. The pink of the 

 verbena is precisely that of the Pantheon 

 phlox, and the plants are allowed to grow 

 free of pins. 



How I Learned Some Lessons 

 from Nature 



By S. R. Duffy, Illinois 



COLOR schemes in print are altogether or- 

 derly, logical, and appear perfectly feas- 

 ible, but when it comes to transferring them 

 from book and paper to the soil, and repro- 

 ducing these ideas in leaf and blossom — 

 it's different. Perhaps people who know 

 nothing about color schemes are to be 

 envied. I was happier with my garden 

 when I could unblushingly grow orange 

 marigolds, purple petunias and glaring blue 

 annual larkspurs all in a bunch and admire 

 them. 



Analyzed down to first principles, there 

 really is nothing new in the ideas of a color 

 scheme. The general thought is the same 

 as the principle found in the chapter on 

 light in elementary text books on physics — 

 that the colors of the spectrum are arranged 

 in perfect harmony and appear in the order 

 — violet, indigo, blue, green, yellow, orange, 

 red; or, more simply, blue, yellow, red. 



The mistake I made was in trying to fol- 

 low illustrative plans too closely without 

 considering the fact that the writers' climates, 

 seasons and summer sunlight were not the 

 same as mine. The glaring summer sun 

 softens colors and makes permissible and 

 admirable combinations which are not even 

 hinted by writers in more gentle climes. ' 



I endeavored to imitate these color arrange- 



ments as closely as I could, with unfortunate 

 results. The flowering seasons did not 

 correspond, and that broke up the combina- 

 tions of color in short order. The plans 

 omitted plants which I had, and wanted in 

 my border, and they didn't match up with 

 the ones suggested; so finally I gave up try- 

 ing to imitate and set about devising plans 

 of my own. 



But with all my endeavors I had some 

 fierce-looking messes owing to my own mis- 

 understandings of color terms and to mis- 

 understandings of catalogue writers. The 

 very worst was in planting Spirea Anthony 

 Waterer next to oriental poppies in the belief 

 that the spirea was crimson and would 

 associate with the scarlet poppies! 



I understood crimson to be red, good and 

 red, like a college color ribbon, something 

 to arouse Taurus. Anthony Waterer spirea 

 was described as bright crimson. That des- 

 cription was surely written by a color-blind 

 man, or one deserving of that shorter but 

 uglier word. Those spireas didn't even 

 make a good bonfire. Asclepias tuber osa 

 blooming close to a wire fence covered with 

 perennial peas also proved most unhappy. 



The trouble in endeavoring to attain a 

 good color scheme is that new colors are 

 discovered every few minutes. There are 

 more kinds of reds and blues and yellows that 

 don't mate up than we have imagined in 

 our philosophy, when you get to looking 

 them squarely in the face. 



The idea of bringing a rainbow to earth 

 and reproducing it in its changing colors in a 

 flower border is undoubtedly an admirable 

 one, but I can't do it. There is too much 

 latitude in the blues and yellows and reds. 

 Blues will combine better than anything else 

 for me. They will make a happy family 

 with pale yellows and then the yellows can 

 deepen and hook up nicely with orange and 

 scarlet; but there is a vast tribe of magentas, 

 lilacs, lavenders, heliotropes, and that color 

 called mauve which I haven't been able to 

 identify twice alike in plants offered as 

 mauve. They seem to vary from deep 

 purple, as I understand it, to dirty whites. 



The only way I can get along with these 

 subjects is to let them flock by themselves and 

 connect by easy stages through patches of 

 white with something else. 



Working with subjects that bloom at the 

 same time simplifies somewhat the diffi- 

 culties of securing a good color scheme, 

 for it is a simple matter to cut the blooms 

 and spread them out and rearrange them 

 until the colors seem well disposed and plant 

 the border accordingly. But right there 

 occurs another kink. The season of flower 

 for most hardy perennials is comparatively 

 short. With a good color scheme arranged 

 for one month, what is to be done for the 

 next and the next and so on until frost? 

 Some plan had to be discovered that I could 

 work out with some degree of success. 

 It is simply impossible for me to handle 

 more than two or three colors at a time with 

 any degree of success and produce anything 

 like a pleasing effect, so I have adopted the 

 suggestion of a very plebeian model and the 

 farther I go with it the better I like it. 



A section of the railroad over which I 

 pass every week has escaped the devasta- 

 ting scythe of the section hands for several 

 seasons, and was worth looking at every day 

 during the summer. It was some six or 

 seven miles long and every week it presented 

 a complete flower garden with one distinct 

 prevailing color with just enough variation 

 to break up the monotony. It seemed to be 

 a whole garden and everything seemed to 

 belong. Every month presented some special 

 scheme, and the entire space was covered. 

 It needed no attention and received none. 

 What better model could be taken ? 



During May the prevailing effect was 

 shooting stars (Dodecatheon Meadia), in 

 pinks, deep rose and white, with variations 

 of Anemone Pennsylvania and quantities 

 of blue-eyed grass, yellow star grass, Viola 

 pedata, and other low-tufted plants around 

 and among the larger. In June the deep 

 rose prairie phlox and the wild hyacinth or 

 quamash prevailed. July brought the gay 

 asclepias and Rudbeckia hirta in spots and 

 patches with plenty of green. In early 

 August came myriads of spires of liatris, 

 purple rudbeckia, the taller, long-coned 

 rudbeckias, and golden rod, with occasional 

 clumps of physostegia. September brought 

 banks and drifts and clouds of asters — 

 dark blue, light blue and white, asters every- 

 where, with the later wild sunflowers. 



If that wild strip along the railroad track 

 without the care of a gardener could unfold 

 one complete garden after another through 

 the entire season, from early spring until 

 October, and with harmonious coloring all 

 the time, it was succeeding with a garden- 

 ing principle that had eluded me. I studied 

 that wild garden pretty thoroughtly, and 

 while the colonies of plants were fairly 

 well defined, there being thickly settled 

 families of them, they were scattered so well 

 all over the space under observation as to 

 give the effect of an entire garden. Measur- 

 ing off a square foot of one of the most 

 densely populated colonies, I took a census 

 of its denizens and found in this small space 

 five shooting stars, one purple rudbeckia, 

 six spikes of phlox, three quasmash or wild 

 hyacinth, one aster, five 'clumps of blue- 

 eyed grass, two clumps of yellow star grass, 

 and one clump of bird's-foot viola, besides 

 some little weeds that I didn't recognize. 

 That seemed a tremendous lot of plant life 

 for one square foot! 



That was not a very illuminating study 

 when applied to my border unless I copied 

 exactly the wildlings I had enumerated, and 

 I didn't want them. I'd go crazy trying 

 to jam eight different kinds of plants into 

 one foot of space, owing to the study neces- 

 sary to secure combinations that would get 

 out of each other's way, but it did appear 

 that the whole secret was overlapping and 

 interlacing colonies blooming at different 

 seasons so that no space ever was wholly 

 vacant. And the farther I go the more con- 

 vinced I am that the interlacing and inter- 

 weaving of colonies selected with a view to 

 harmony of growth and coloring and seasons 

 is the true secret of securing continuous, 

 bloom over an entire border during an entire 



