60 



THE GARDEN MAGAZINE 



September, 1909 



Some of the armorclads : asclepias and gaillardia, 

 ■with grass pink edging 



the stem, and then it is too late to reach it. 

 I have sprayed the pentstemons with Paris 

 green, but apparently did not do it at quite 

 the right time. 



However, if I can't raise the large-flowered 

 tender pentstemon successfully I have found 

 a substitute that I like even better and that 

 is the Pentstemon barbatus hybrids. I am 

 particularly fond of pentstemons because they 

 are the only plants I know that have the same 

 soft peculiar shades as the Darwin tulips. 

 The old Pentstemon barbatus, var. Torreyi, 

 with its coral red tubes was always a favorite 

 of mine. These newer hybrids vary from 

 cream color to a dark purple and all with the 

 peculiar glaucous shade of the Darwin tulips. 

 I have never seen any whoops or hurrahs 

 over these plants and have seen them cata- 

 logued only once, but they do make a beau- 

 tiful bed and are proof, so far, against 

 Mamie, cats, cutworms, drought, and moles. 



Anchusa italica, Dropmore variety, was broken 

 over by a dog but not destroyed 



I have added them to my armor-proof 

 list — gaillardias, asclepias, Chinese lark- 

 spurs, perennial asters, oriental poppies, and 

 primroses. 



But as the sweet girl graduate is wont to 

 say, "Per aspera ad astra," which being 

 interpreted means first catch your pest and 

 then you can surely kill him. 



Rhododendrons seem to have a singular 

 fascination for new gardeners. Sooner or 

 later a convert to the " city beautiful " idea, 

 which is pervading our fair State, yearns 

 for rhododendrons. I have a suspicion that 

 among the feminine gardeners the subtle 

 attraction of the word rhododendron is 

 derived from some of those beautiful novels 

 in which the heroine is always a lady of 

 high degree whose troubles aggravate with 

 every chapter. She invariably retires to a 

 thicket of rhododendrons to sob her young 

 life away. Of course the scene of watering 

 the rhododendrons is laid in England. 



Pleading not guilty to the novel habit, I 

 did fall victim to the lure of the rhododen- 

 dron. Beautiful pictures of rhododendrons 

 in full bloom and plants for sale on the street 

 in the early spring time enrolled me among 

 the ranks of those who have tried rhodo- 

 dendrons and failed. Then, too, some 

 nurserymen are over-emphatic in their 

 statements that rhododendrons will grow 

 in "any good garden soil." 



I purchased a dozen rhododendrons. 

 That was some five years ago. They w T ere 

 supposedly mixed hybrids — price, $1.50 

 each. There is some little consolation in 

 buying rhododendrons even if you fail with 

 them. They are delivered with fat buds and 

 give a fine crop of blossoms the first year. 

 Hopes rise in the gardener's breast. They 

 look easy enough to grow. New leaves 

 follow the blossoms and until the middle 

 of July they seem to justify all the negatives 

 in the dictionary about the difficulty of 

 growing them. 



Come the hot days of July and August, 

 and one by one the rhododendrons fold 

 their leaves and droop. Copious water- 

 ing helps, but the next spring finds half of 

 them gone. Others follow from year to 

 year. I have one left. 



It flourishes in a half-hearted sort of way, 

 but it really does live, and this year looks 

 better than it ever did before, which is not 

 awarding it any beauty medals. It had 

 three clusters of bloom which were fairly 

 good. 



When I discovered that the entire dozen 

 rhododendrons were all of the same color, 

 I at once wrote to the nurseryman from 

 whom I had purchased them, complaining 

 that the description of mixed colors was 

 not true. In reply I received a letter saying 

 that they were imported plants and he could 

 not guarantee the variety or color and he 

 closed his letter with this remark: "I have 

 yet to learn of rhododendrons being grown 

 successfully in the latitude of Chicago, or, 

 in fact, in Illinois." 



Cheerful, wasn't it? And his tatalogue 

 said he had seen them growing in a deserted 

 clay patch, and nourishing! 



With all the hard luck that has beset 



A cat, dog, and chicken proof seed-bed with a 

 future perennial border growing in it. Cumbersome 

 but serviceable 



my gardening efforts, there is one good old 

 standby that never fails, German iris. 

 When we moved to our present home we 

 found the nucleus of a garden in a clump 

 of white iris clinging to the edge of , a 

 sand-stone ledge which terminates our 

 yard and drops abruptly to the Illinois 

 River, which is about thirty feet below. 

 The soil was not more than three inches 

 deep at most, but the iris flourished. 

 These iris have been on this slope for 

 eighteen years that I know of, and must 

 have been there some time before we 

 bought the place. I have divided and 

 subdivided the old white iris and pur- 

 chased other colors until I have an iris 

 rock garden that is a gem. 



In addition to their grand display of bloom, 

 they serve the double purpose of holding the 

 soil and binding it to the rocks so that it 

 does not wash away with the spring and 

 fall rains. 1 had considerable trouble of 

 this kind until I had the entire slope nearest 

 the rock planted with iris. 



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German iris is one of the surest ever-reliabl.es and 

 grows on the rocks as a soil binder 



