A Garden That "Just Grew"— By Mrs. Grace Churchill, a 



1 SHALL call it a transplanted garden, 

 because it is that and nothing else — 

 hardly a thing is living in the place 

 where it started. And of course every- 

 one would know, from that statement 

 that it is a woman's garden! I have 

 moved hollyhocks two feet tall, large fox- 

 gloves, and shrubs and roses, very often. 

 It is only the poppies that hang their heads 

 and pout. But this transplanting is the 

 secret of having a lovely garden in the short 

 time of four years. I was fortunate in hav- 

 ing large trees to begin with, in having a 

 garden-man who has faith in my inspira- 

 tions, and also a man who could look at 

 pictures and from them make a summer 

 house, a pergola, little seats, and a lattice 

 for the Dorothy Perkins rose. 



Our lot, from the house to the back 

 fence, is about 300 feet deep by 90 feet wide, 

 and was a wilderness. We had it cleared, 

 plowed and leveled, not graded; it is just 

 a good natural-looking lawn. We laid out 

 a gravel walk around the lot, leaving an 

 oval grass plot in the centre. There were 

 two elms over the summer house, 

 and here beside the gravel walk 

 we put a long, green bench; out- 

 side of the gravel walk we planted 

 flowers and shrubs. 



The garden did look so large 

 and the shrubs and plants from 

 the nurseries so small that after 

 setting out several long and ex- 

 pensive lists of plants, I felt I had 

 not made much impression. I 

 had in mind an English garden, 

 with its stone walls covered with 

 ivy; but my stone waUs had to be 

 wire fences and my ivy, wild cu- 

 cumber vine. I have been told 

 many times, in my impulsive 

 career, that patience is a virtue, 

 but when I walked 

 around my garden, won- 

 dering why things did 

 not grow faster and hurry 

 up to make the garden of 

 my dreams, I was any- 

 thing but virtuous! 



Then I had an inspira- 

 tion. Why not put in 

 large shrubs and plants! 

 I advertised in the vil- 

 lage newspapers for a 

 large syringa bush, and 

 obtained one that was to 

 be chopped down other- 

 wise because it occupied 

 too much space ! It was a 

 fine clump at least twelve 

 feet high, and did not 

 resent being moved a bit. 



Many of my neighbors 

 have lived for years in 

 their homes and have 

 large old fashioned shrubs. 

 As soon as they learned 

 I wanted such things, 



This garden is only four years old 



Transplanting is done whenever a shift seems desirable 



Plenty of water whenever anything is worked keeps growth moving ahead 



48 



with true village generosity they gave 

 gladly. Three years ago one of them 

 offered a large lilac bush if I would move 

 it. My garden-man dug a large hole 

 and filled it with water in order to have 

 the ground very soft and wet. Then 

 we started with spade and wheelbarrow 

 for the lilac bush. You will understand 

 how large it was when we found that 

 the spade would not do and we had to 

 use a pick to get it out of the ground. 

 I had hoped to carry it home with plenty of 

 earth on the roots, but to my disappoint- 

 ment the roots came out clean. But that 

 did not seem to make any difference. We 

 set the bush in the puddle of mud and 

 water, filled it up and watered the ground 

 all around it. The tree was in bloom but 

 so fit tie resented transplanting that the 

 blossoms did not even wilt! 



I also set out an old rose bush — a very 

 old one — of the kind our grandmothers 

 had in their gardens, with creamy petals, 

 yellow heart and such a delightful fra- 

 grance. It was a very hot day and my 

 man was not to be found, so my 

 neighbor (who is eighty years old) 

 and I decided to dig it up our- 

 selves. We dug and dug until we 

 were hot and tired, and then we 

 pulled on the root until it broke. 

 Over went my neighbor, myself, 

 and the rose bush with half its 

 roots broken off. It had leaves 

 and buds on it then and I was 

 afraid its days were numbered, 

 but I carried it home, put its feet 

 in water and tied it to the fence. 

 All the leaves and buds dropped 

 off, but before the summer was 

 over I called my neighbor to see 

 new leaves and small white roses 

 on it. This same old neighbor, 

 who has given me so 

 many plants and such 

 good advice, told me that 

 my roses would do better 

 on the other side of the 

 garden. It was then the 

 first of June and many 

 were in blossom, but I 

 met my "garden man" at 

 five o'clock in the morn- 

 ing. He dug the holes 

 and I used the hose. 



I do not like magenta 

 and red phlox side by side, 

 but, with floral offerings 

 from many gardens, one is 

 never sure what the color 

 scheme will be. So last 

 year, when the phlox was 

 in blossom, I moved it to 

 make the colors harmo- 

 nize, and put white 

 clumps between quarrel- 

 ing neighbors. And now 

 my phlox and I live in. 

 peace and contentment. 



