Making Money From Cut Flowers— By Carl Purdy.ss. 



[Editor's Note. — The following account of an amateur grower's actual experiences in turning into money some of the surplus product of 

 his garden was written in 1903, before San Francisco was visited bij the disastrous earthquake and fire. When the city became re-established 

 Mr. Purdy once more turned his attention to horticultural pursuits, and a market for cut flowers. He writes that, notwithstanding all that 

 has happened in the meantime, lie still feels the account of his earlier experiences is as true as it could be if it were written only in view of 

 more recent developments. The great lesson to be learned is that there is a local condition to be met; each one must discover the solution 

 of his own problem by personal investigation. We want to hear about any amateur gardener who has in any way turned Ins hobbv into 

 a source of revenue, and we will purchase suitable articles.] 



WHEN I think of it now, I feel that I 

 rather lacked enterprise in not 

 making my cut flowers a source of profit 

 sooner than I did. I had for many years 

 grown a large variety of bulbous plants, 

 and my exhibits at the California State 

 Floral Society's shows had won diplomas. 

 It was not that I had not thought of it — 

 it had also been often suggested to me by 

 others — but my mountain garden was 

 nearly nine miles from Ukiah — a five- 

 mile drive across the valley, another three 

 miles or so up a mountain canon, and 

 then a mile and a half of pack trail up and 

 over the mountain to Lyons Valley. Then, 

 again, Ukiah is one hundred and fifteen 

 miles from San Francisco, and that meant 

 five hours, which were often warm ones. 



To be sure, I had succeeded in shipping 

 exhibits to the flower shows, so that they 

 had arrived in fine condition, but it hardly 

 seemed practicable to wrap each small 

 bunch of a large shipment in wax paper 

 and pack them in tin cases as I had done 

 in those instances. I did make a few trials, 

 but they were unsatisfactory. 



In the spring of 1902 I had a large number 

 of daffodils coming into flower, and I deter- 

 mined to work out the shipping problem 

 if it "took all summer." The first thing 

 was to find the best methods of packing. 

 I interviewed a business acquaintance who 

 had a flower store; the only suggestion given 

 was that I pack my daffodils in flat paste- 

 board boxes with moist packing. I gave 

 it several trials, with a net result of a very 

 small credit and a request to discontinue 

 shipments. 



I again went to the city, and this time 

 carried in my hands a basket filled with 

 fine Empress daffodils, determined to find 

 out why it was that a flower of such fine 

 keeping qualities would not stand a five- 

 hours' journey in the cool of the day. I 

 tied them in bunches of twelve, stood them 

 upright in a flat, splint, market basket, 

 and tied paper over the top to keep out the 

 dust. It was a warm day, but my flowers 

 arrived in San Francisco as fresh as they 

 left Ukiah, and sold at sight. 



This suggested to me what was needed 

 — a packing case tall enough for the stems 

 to stand upright, so that there would be 

 no weight on the flowers themselves. 



The best thing for the purpose was a 

 round, flat-bottomed Indian basket. I put 

 damp moss in the bottom, tied the daffodils 

 in dozens, wrapped each bunch in a sheet 

 of newspaper, filled the basket sufficiently 

 to keep the bunches from working over 

 sidewise, yet not so full as to allow the 



flowers to crush each other, sprinkled 

 water over the top, and tied a piece of 

 sheeting over the basket to keep out dust 

 and soot. This time the flowers went through 

 in perfect shape, and brought a call which 

 took all that I had at good prices. 



The supply of Indian baskets not being 

 equal to the demand, I found that large 

 flaring clothes baskets did quite as well. 

 Meantime, I was testing other possible 

 money makers. 



Two years previously a large lot of tulip 

 bulblets had been planted, and all but 

 forgotten, and now they were coming into 

 bloom and proved to be various tall, late 

 varieties in medley — bizarres, byblooms, and 

 breeders. The crop netted me about $15. 



My success with the little bed of tulips 

 prompted me to import a fine lot from 

 Holland. I trusted the dealer, an old 

 business friend of mine, to make the selec- 

 tion, and the larger part was of that 

 class of late tulips known as Darwins, 

 which were said to be great favorites for 

 cutting. I was sorry to find in the selection 

 a considerable number of early singles. 



Daffodils were very profitable, but it took some 

 thought and experiment to find out exactly how to 

 ship the bunched flowers to arrive without crushing 



15 



I knew that large numbers of that class were 

 forced by the florists and put on the market 

 in winter, and it hardly seemed that I could 

 sell them at so late a date as they would 

 flower with me. 



I had found Narcissus poeticus, var. 

 ornatus, a great favorite, and as it is the 

 best white-flowered variety, I invested in 

 a nice lot of them. 



My experience had taught me that unless 

 flowers can be put on the market early, it 

 may be better to have them come late and 

 avoid the midsummer glut. Now it happens 

 that while my mountain gardens are ad- 

 mirably adapted to narcissus culture, it is 

 absolutely hopeless to compete in earliness 

 with those favored regions about the bay 

 where the crop is marketed in February. 

 I therefore selected my ground with the 

 idea of bringing most of my crop on late 

 and of extra quality. 



My first lot went down March 25th. I 

 think that it was about the 4th of April, 

 after my third or fourth consignment, that 

 I received a letter stating that the market 

 was glutted, and that no more flowers 

 would be received. With thousands of 

 the finest daffodils I had ever grown ready, 

 and other thousands to come within ten 

 days, this was a situation calling for quick 

 action. With a sample case containing 

 specimens of average quality of the varieties 

 then in bloom, I went to the bay as soon as 

 I could leave home. 



The dealer was courteous; I could see 

 that his place was stacked with narcissus. 

 Mine were excellent, but of some varieties 

 others had produced even better. "Could 

 he use any Barrii Conspicuus?" 



"Couldn't possibly. People don't care 

 for them. Had fifty-seven dozen fine 

 bunches of them in our windows for a week 

 and then threw away just fifty-seven dozens." 



Now, Barrii Conspicuus was a sort that 

 I had felt confident people would care for, 

 and I had backed that confidence to the 

 extent of some thousands of bulbs. 



Somewhat discouraged, I screwed my 

 courage to the sticking point, took my 

 samples and began a canvass of other places. 

 I do not believe that I saw a daffodil; At 

 the end of an hour I had booked as many 

 orders as I dared, and at prices materially 

 above what I had so far secured. Which 

 goes to prove that faulty distribution is 

 often the weak place where over-production 

 and under-consumption take the blame. 



Instead of trying to sell my flowers to a 

 few dealers I now distributed them well 

 along the line. I found that nearly all of 

 the daffodil growers confined themselves 



