The American Garden 



Vol. XI. 



JANUARY, 1890. 



No. I. 



SOME ASPECTS OF OLD ORCHARDS. 



FACES IN TREES THE REVIVIFYING OF NEGLECTED NEW ENGLAND FARMS. 



O ONE who rambles 

 ofLcn througli the 

 woods and fields of 

 our northern states, 

 old orchards form an 

 interesting and 

 suggestive stud y. 

 One is constantl}' com- 

 ing upon them in un- 

 expected place s — 

 such for instance, as 

 the midst of a second growth of timber, or a lonely 

 hill side, miles from any habitation. 



During a recent walk I discovered three of these 

 mournful assemblages of old, gnarled, worn-out 

 streets. I say " mournful," for there is something 

 about an abandoned and degenerated orchard 

 which inspires a feeling of melancholy. Coming 

 suddenly upon it, in forest or field, and pausing to 

 note the general atmosphere of neglect and decay, 

 one can hardly help entertaining some such thoughts 

 as, we may imagine, will pass through the mind of 

 Macaulay's New Zealander, seated on the broken 

 arch of London Bridge. 



This feeling of melancholy springs perhaps from 

 the suggestion which an abandoned orchard con- 

 veys of the decay of farm-life, for a little search 

 usually serves to discover the ruins of a farm house. 

 Or it may be part of a recently deserted farm. The 

 land about is unfilled and running down. These old 

 trees are only part of the general picture of decay. 

 It all suggests the breaking up of the old-time 

 rural communities ; the drift of young manhood 

 and womanhood from country to city ; the insane 

 fever for Western emigration ; the impoverishment 



of the soil and the decline of home industry in this 

 and other once prosperous sections, by the with- 

 drawfll of money and youthful energy into other 

 parts. 



And yet it does not seem as if this condition of 

 affairs could continue much longer without a re- 

 action. F^or congestion in society, as well as in the 

 body, provokes reaction. Our cities are congested 

 with people and it would seem as if there must be 

 a return wave into the rural sections pretty soon. 

 It has already started. 



Has not even the great West, in spite of its bound- 

 less territory and undeveloped resources, had a 

 growth too rapid to be normal or substantial ? The 

 typical Western community is a Shantytown, not a 

 Solidville. The West is panicy, feverish, insecure. 

 It has grown too fast. Notice how many of the 

 enterprising young men who go out there to make 

 their fortunes come back again and settle in East- 

 ern communities. Some are New Englanders, and 

 they are returning to the old neglected farms. Be- 

 fore many years we shall see the reaction taking 

 effect. But as yet the old orchard typifies the con- 

 dition of much of New England farm-life. It has 

 reached the lowest point of a long decline. 



There is a still more potent reason for the melan- 

 choly of an old orchard's venerable, misshapen, 

 sterile trees. It is that, though they live and cum- 

 ber the ground, they have passed the point of use- 

 fulness in the world. 



We see the ground about us here strewn with 

 apples, but every one is an apple of Sodom. The 

 cattle will not eat them ; the squirrels will not nib- 

 ble them ; even the worms will not burrow in them. 

 They are intolerably bitter and sour. Look into 



