10 MY GROWING GARDEN 



the call of the carpenters who were renewing the 

 old house, gave me vast benefit. I knew about 

 snow, of course — had I not shoveled my own side- 

 walk part of the time for a score of years? But I 

 had forgotten some of the snow-happenings about 

 niy boyhood's garden home, so that the marvelous 

 elasticity of the seemingly stiff arborvitses under 

 a great load of chnging whiteness was new to me, 

 as I waded about, lifting here and shaking there 

 to see the branches spring to position as released 

 from their snow burden. 



Twenty years of walking on city streets gave 

 me no preparation for the sheer beauty of the 

 walk through a foot of virgin snow, with the after- 

 noon sun sending blue sky-shadows into every 

 footprint. The outlining in snow of the lovely 

 reverse curves of the branches on the western big 

 horse-chestnut showed me anew what tree archi- 

 tecture means. 



I made acquaintance, one winter day of hoar- 

 frost, with the dehcacy of the twigs of the sturdy 

 young linden, and with the green plumes of the 

 Norway spruce nearby. Curiously enough, I 

 passed without seeing it a fine persimmon, which 

 I presume was loaded then as it has been since 

 with delicious fruit. Those same scraggly quinces 

 which looked so forlorn in November took on a 



