September, 1909 



THE GARDEN MAGAZINE 



57 



and gave no thought to their proper handling 

 for travel or for anything else, and the 

 varieties were just any old things that came 

 my way. I hardly knew their family names, 

 even. The truth is that the place was gener- 

 ous, the soil deep, rich, and properly moist, 

 and the entire surroundings and environ- 

 ment gave an appropriate setting — an 

 atmosphere, if you will. The place itself 

 was old, the historical gun house, from the 

 roof of which scalding water was poured 

 on the heads of the marauding Indians, 





heart's desire to "potter about among grow- 

 ing things." 



It was summer time and my little bit of 

 a garden was gay with roses, and irises, and 

 maybe there were some larkspurs too. All 

 I know for certain is that the flowers that 

 attracted attention must have been of the 

 hardiest and best natured of the old time 

 popular favorites for I had made my garden 

 without reference to anything but what was 

 already growing in other front or back yards 

 of this little country town. That anyone 

 would cast envious 

 eyes upon my results 

 had never entered my 

 head. One day a 

 party of those rare 

 summer visitors stop- 

 ped before our house 

 and asked for the 

 privilege of purchas- 

 ing a small bouquet 

 of my flowers. 



The idea of raising 

 flowers for money 

 was so entirely foreign 

 to my ideals that I 

 would not hear of it. 

 "No, no," I said, "I 

 grow my plants be- 

 cause I just love to do 

 it, and I will gladly 

 share with you . the 

 flowers they yield — 

 they must be cut any- 

 how, and I am glad to 

 know that they may 

 pass into the hands of 

 those who can really 

 appreciate them. 

 Come along in, and 

 we will gather a 

 handful together." 



But my callers 

 would none of it, and 

 finally stated flatly 

 "We can afford to 

 pay for what we want, 

 and want to pay for 

 what we have. In- 

 deed if we can't buy 

 from you, we can't 

 take the flowers." A 

 small deal was made, 

 the visitors departed, 

 and I dismissed the 

 matter. But the 

 people came back — 



theV WOuld have more The garden lies in a mellow basin and never needs water. The old, square gun house is in the rear 



flowers, and so came 



the beginning of my present old-fashioned 

 flower farm. My first customers extolled 

 my wares among their friends, who also came 

 in turn, and I actually found myself in the 

 position of having a trade forced upon me. 



The next season I confess to having 

 planned a little to be able to meet the demand 

 that I felt sure would come. I sold about 

 ten or twelve dollars worth, or rather I 

 should say, I took in about that amount of 

 cash. As I look back on it all now, I really 

 think I got more than the flowers were worth. 

 I had grown them bv instinct, as it were, 



stands just back of the garden. And as to 

 the land, it was famously fertile. As a 

 meadow for years in the hands of Mr. 

 Gregory, the pioneer seedsman of Marble- 

 head, it yielded two to three tons of hay to 

 the acre, besides pasturing several cows in 

 the early part of the season. Coupled with 

 these was the inherent love of the New 

 Englander for the flowers of "grandmother's 

 garden." Although I began with the hardy 

 perennial flowers, I quickly realized that in 

 order to be able to meet the demand, some 

 thing that would give a quick return must 



be grown. My choice turned to sweet peas, 

 and as events have proved, it was a distinctly 

 lucky choice. What was originally the 

 vegetable garden gradually became en- 

 croached upon more and more until prac- 

 tically the whole area is now given up to 

 these sweet peas. The ground simply pro- 

 vides ideal conditions for them. I never 

 have to water from one year's end to another, 

 and contrary to all the teachings of the 

 authorities, I get my best results when the 

 seed is sown very thickly. A furrow is 

 opened and the seed 

 thrown in by hand 

 and covered three in- 

 ches deep. Year after 

 year this same prac- 

 tice has been followed 

 on the same land, and 

 the results are just as 

 good as ever. 



I grow sweet peas in 

 separate colors, and 

 am on the lookout for 

 any advances, and in 

 a small way try the 

 novelties each year. 

 But I find they prac- 

 tically resolve them- 

 selves into a small 

 handful. I grow just 

 what my customers 

 seem to want most, 

 and the old-fashioned 

 type has been more 

 satisfactory than the 

 larger-flowered, newer 

 varieties of the Coun- 

 tess Spencer type. As 

 to varieties, Salopian 

 is the favorite for 

 bright red. King Ed- 

 ward VII. is also good. 

 The pink and white 

 Blanche Ferry is in- 

 dispensable. I grow 

 the early flowering 

 selection which comes 

 into bloom hereabouts 

 in the early days of 

 June. This year it 

 was the 13th, four or 

 five days later than 

 usual on account of 

 the cold spring 

 weather that was ex- 

 perienced. Countess 

 of Radnor, Flora 

 Norton. Mrs. Ken- 

 yon, Dorothy Ten- 

 nant, Lovely (pink), Miss Wilmot (salmon) 

 and Sadie Burpee for white. 



From the very first I have grown named 

 varieties, and have always bunched the 

 colors separately. I find that the class of 

 trade to which I cater is very keen in color 

 perception, and much is accomplished by a 

 proper arrangement of graduating colors of 

 the flowers, even as they stand in the shallow 

 zinc containers in the cellar, where they are 

 put immediately after being picked. 



Sweet peas are bunched thirty- five to 

 fifty sprays, so as to get a uniform mass effect. 



