August, 19 13 



AMERICAN HOMES AND GARDENS 



277 



A sheltered garden, nestling in the highlands of New Jersey 



A Long Bloom in a Hardy Garden 



By Charlotte Cowdrey Brown 



N my sheltered garden, nestling in the High- 

 lands of New Jersey, the bloom begins along 

 the last Sunday of March, the beginning of 

 my week end visits, after a long pent-up 

 Winter in town. As I pass the gate, look- 

 ing eagerly for the first glimpses of Spring, 

 I find the gayest and bravest of Crocuses, the Purpurea, 

 Grandiflora, a mass of color among the shrubs, welcoming 

 my return. Next to the black stained garden rail, are 

 planted box trees, that are left untrimmed, and at their feet, 

 the English Ivy grows covering the bare ground with its 

 glossy leafage, and here these purple harbingers of Spring 

 find a lovely setting. From a hidden recess, I dig up a few 

 of the cherished blossoms, and transplant them to bowls, 

 where undaunted by the change and lack of sun, they cheer 

 my table desk in town between visits. Experience has 

 taught me that these Crocuses die out, unless time is allowed 

 for maturing, and the alluring lawn planting advised in most 

 of the garden literature is impractical. In my own case the 

 lawn must be cut in late April, when their foliage is still 

 stiff and tall, so they soon disappear, while under the kindly 

 shrubs, they can take their own time in disappearing, without 

 fear of a sharp knife, and thus increase year by year. Our 

 start to the country this year was on a rainy day, and I made 

 the pilgrimage with misgivings, but what a peace my soul 

 found when we arrived. A silence that had no sense of 

 loneliness hung over all, and as I stood listening, I became 

 aware of a fluttering overhead, and looking up caught the 

 eye of a fat robin, who at once flew to a familiar branch 

 of a tree near by and poured forth his song to the return of 

 Spring. I knew him to be the same cheery friend, who fol- 

 lowed my weedings of last Summer, and who at sunset flew 

 to the topmost branch of the oak tree, to sing his evening 

 song. The rainy day, with the grass of the tenderest green, 



the earth a moist rich brown color, and the trees a soft 

 gray, suggestive of swelling buds, and over all the persistent 

 mist that softened the bareness of the branches, and it did 

 seem good to be in the open once more. 



The following week I found the garden more green, with 

 severe blade-like leaves pushing by the slower pink tips of 

 the Peonies, and patches of snow white Crocuses, and the 

 blue Scillas, like the June skies, lying in drifts under the 

 yellow Forsythia bushes. Later the entire garden repeats 

 this color combination of blue and yellow, perhaps the love- 

 liest combination of them all with a planting of the 

 Narcissi Emperor and Golden Spur, and the pale starry 

 Mrs. Langtry, deepening the lavender-blue Phlox Divari- 

 cata, that is next to her, and a bit beyond are very early 

 yellow and white Tulips, the Chysolora and White Swan. 



The May flowering Tulips closely follow these early ones, 

 and what color combinations one can make with them, and 

 what splendor they suggest. The palest pink Gretchen, to 

 the deepest pink Clara But are planted among the Phloxes 

 to the right of the garden walk, while opposite them are 

 the deeper red colors, the Gesneriana Spathulata, flinging 

 its black eye wide to the sun and is like a glowing ruby, the 

 Pride of Haarlem, that renders one speechless, with its 

 depth of tone, and many other red varieties of this most 

 beautiful form of Tulip, that after years of neglect is now 

 gradually coming to its own. A little beyond these brilliant 

 groups, are the pale lavenders, La Tristesse, and Viking 

 to the deep velvet-like Sultan and Tulipe Noire, and at the 

 very end are the Parrots, that bend and sway with every 

 gentle breeze, and I revel in these dazzling colors during 

 the days that pass all too quickly. 



These Tulips last a full week in water, and the mantel 

 mirror reflects their brightness, and fills my city room with 

 color. The earlier Irises follow, but my eyes do not linger 



