192 



The Garden Magazine, May, 1922 



of course, a simpler matter, and here, too, connecting compart- 

 ments should be left for semi-aquatic plants. In this, as in 

 the brook, irregularity and absence of formality must be the 

 gardener's aim. Lilies, if introduced, should be of the wild 

 varieties, or at least not differ too widely from them, nor is 

 there here a place for the Lotus, or for any distinctively trop- 

 ical plant, however lovely. 



THE "wild garden," be it remembered, is something quite 

 apart from the "native garden" which, though composed 

 exclusively of flowers growing wild in its particular locality, may 

 yet be set out as formally as any other. Obviously, the mere 

 geographical origin of any plant does not necessarily unfit it 

 from becoming, let us say, a part of a geometrical design. The 

 wild garden, however, has a distinctly different aim. Here 

 flowers are set out to produce a natural effect, which is primarily 

 a matter of treatment rather than of materials. Therefore, the 

 presence of native flowers solely is not to be insisted upon — any 

 dainty, graceful bloom not obviously unsuited by character to 

 natural use may well be added, thus increasing the interest of the 

 tiny wilderness. 



If no woods are available, a wall may be successfully used as 

 a background for the wild garden — not a carefully laid wall, 

 or even a dry wall, gay with many-colored blossoms, but an old, 

 moss-grown mass of field stones, if you are fortunate enough to 

 boast one. Cover it with Woodbine, with Clematis paniculata, 

 with the Ground-nut, whose inconspicuous crimson-and-pink 

 frilled blossoms send forth so delicious a perfume in the early 

 fall. Let an occasional peeping boulder be left to show upon 

 what the vines are massed; and before them set your tall sheaves 

 of Elecampane, of Mullein, of Fireweed and Milkweed, and the 

 gorgeous giant Joe-Pye-weed. Beneath these set the flashing 

 red of Field Lilies, the yellow bells of Canadian Lilies, blue 

 Vervain, Meadowsweet, Hardhack, or the Blackeyed Susans. 



The "ordinary garden flowers" included with them must, of 

 course, be left largely to the taste and judgment of the in- 

 dividual gardener; but the native blooms should form, in large 

 measure, the backbone of the wild garden. 



MANY nurserymen now specialize in plants of native flowers 

 and of named varieties of certain groups, and to buy di- 

 rectly from them is a method preferable either to the doubtful 

 outcome of "wildflower mixture" of some seedsmen — for what 

 flower enthusiast does not prefer to know his flowers by name? — 

 or to the old-fashioned way of starting out, trowel in hand, along 

 the country roads, to dig up incontinently any plant which may 

 strike your passing fancy. 



The reasons for this are manifold. First of all, the grower 

 grows with transplanting in view; he ships at the proper season, 

 so that the risk of the garden owner is reduced to a minimum. 

 He indicates the proper conditions under which plants should be 

 cultivated in order to produce the best results. To be sure, 

 wild flowers are hardy, and bear considerable rough treatment 

 uncomplainingly; but they grow where they can, in many cases, 

 not where they thrive best; and the trowel-armed amateur too 

 often goes to considerable trouble to duplicate conditions in 

 which he found a certain plant, only to discover later that the 

 same plant does far better in the garden of a friend in quite 

 different environment. Then, too, he who selects his flowers 

 by the wayside transplants them while in bloom — the time when 

 such treatment is especially dangerous. His garden is thus 

 apt to become merely a group of flowers which bloom all to- 

 gether and only at a given time, for few of us are fortunate 



enough to extend our collecting during the entire summer. 

 Again, there are wild flowers which prefer poor soil, and which 

 are spoiled by kindness. So, from the standpoint of both flowers 

 and gardener, it is decidedly better to purchase one's native 

 stock from a grower. 



Another very real objection to the collecting of wild flowers 

 by the amateur is the serious harm which has been done to our 

 native plants by an indiscriminate gathering of them along the 

 countryside — some of our most beautiful plants are, in conse- 

 quence, in danger of total extinction. A striking instance of this is- 

 the Mayflower or Trailing Arbutus, which is almost exterminated 

 in some localities because of such destructive gathering. 



ANOTHER pleasure of the garden in which wild flowers pre- 

 dominate is the exchanging of varieties with friends at a dis- 

 tance. Perhaps in their own gardens they are cultivating some of 

 their own native plants; perhaps, in the absence of garden facili- 

 ties, they have tried to content themselves with a more thorough 

 knowledge of the inhabitants of neighboring fields and woods. 

 By exchanging bits of garden lore with them, one may often 

 unearth a variety of plant superior to that already familiar. 

 For instance, the feathery pale purple Aster of New England, 

 or even the deep purple one (whose tiny centre is filled with a 

 mass of yellow and purple stamens vividly recalling to the 

 feminine mind "French knots") commonly sold as perennial 

 Aster, both here and abroad, is far inferior to the less grown 

 but more showy large purple Aster, with a large yellow centre, 

 so usual in southern New York and in New Jersey. In England 

 the variety of Goldenrod most commonly seen in cultivation is 

 the straight, spiky one which recalls the stiff and characterless 

 Silverrod; while the spreading sort, reminiscent of the Ameri- 

 can Elm in shape, is not seen at all. 



Among flowers which worthily plead for entrance into the 

 garden are: the wild Columbine, in red and yellow, full of 

 airy grace; various varieties of wild Phlox — especially a lovely 

 shade of deep rose, which seems to thrive in the worst soil and 

 the fiercest drought; Sweet Mary, or Monarda didyma, a garden 

 standby; also its twin brother, the Purple Bergamot, a rapid 

 grower, free bloomer, and as I can testify from experience, 

 practically indestructible; the yellow Dog-tooth Violet that 

 covers your beds with a creamy carpet in spring; the Mountain 

 Laurel, which lights the June hills of New England with a rosy 

 snow; brilliant-hued Rhododendron; Sumac with its crimson 

 glow — but why enumerate further? The fields are full of these 

 and others as alluring, to possess which it is only necessary after 

 a walk abroad through Nature's nursery, to return and find your 

 favorites listed in the catalogue. 



Under no circumstances, let me again insist, should the natural 

 garden be formal. Massing should be its aim, like that of the 

 impressionist artist, who throws great sweeps of color on his 

 canvas. And in corners where delicacy is desired, what can 

 surpass a bit of woodland, blue with Hepaticas in spring, sweet 

 with hidden Mayflowers, and later gorgeous with the blooms 

 of the showy Lady-slipper? But to set Lady-slippers down 

 either side of a garden walk, or to border a gravel path with 

 Hepatica, is to force the little woodland maiden into the paint 

 and tawdry finery of the provincial town, and to attempt with 

 only moderate success an effect which other blossoms, more 

 suited to the purpose because of their very solidity and lack of 

 daintiness, would carry off better. For environment is a force 

 to reckon with, in the lives of flowers no less than in our own; 

 and nowhere is it more felt than when dealing with the intangible 

 charm of the wild garden. 



