Poppy — EschschoUzit Californica. In my dream-garden the fremonita 
Calif ornica shall grow to its full height of twenty-five feet and be 
covered with the large yellow blossoms like the native sunshine. 
The philadelphus Lewisii shall replace the eastern Syringa and 
smell as sweet. The Wild Cherry, prunus ilidfolia, is another reality, 
a joy all the year in blossom and in fruit; Its glossy, spiny leaves are a 
substitute for holly wreaths. The toyon, heteromeles arbutifolia, 
furnishes red berries for Christmas decorations; the Enghsh grow it as 
a May-bush because it suggests when in bloom the Hawthorn, to 
which it is related. 
The Live-Oaks I have, and under their branches I shall plant all 
the shade loving things. Clarkia concinna, its rose pink petals the 
deepest tone I Hke in a Summer garden. The gilia tricolor is already 
at home, and is now ready for its third succession of plants; its lilac 
and yellow flowers harmonize with the yellow of the coreopsis Doug- 
lasii, which loves the sim. The blue of the nemophila insignis, which 
wants partial shade, blends with the pale yellow of the Cream-cups, 
platystemon Calif ornicus; it, too, likes the sun. Where the hydrant 
drips, the Floerkea Douglasii will grow best; it hkes damp soil and 
justifies its name of "Meadow Foam." The fringed GiHa is an old 
favorite; it will creep over rock-work, edge the steps to the pool and 
outline all the paths. Golden Stars, hloomeria aurea, and brodiea capi- 
tata, shall live, hundreds of them, out in the open, yellow and lilac 
and blue mingling toward the sunset gate. Just because our climate 
will do it, we grow in our gardens trees and shrubs and plants from 
the four corners of the earth and the islands of the sea. One can 
never tell, perhaps it may be that we yet shall find something from 
the waters under the sea. We should, at any rate, find a little space 
to perpetuate our own flora. 
There is a garden in Mission Canyon where the wild flowers feel 
at home: its learned owner planned and planted it. She sowed the 
seed of trees whose branches now break the skyline of the Mission 
tower. She brought native shrubs and plants to grow here with others 
from afar whose habitat was the same. So deftly has she mingled the 
cultivated with the wild, that all seem of Nature's own planting. No 
tropic palms fan the air; no exotic shrubs mar the simplicity of the 
rocky hillside; delightful surprises await you at every turn: tall 
Mulleins from the Roman Campagna; an Acanthus forcing its way 
from between two rocks as much at home as in Greece itself; Matilija 
Poppies too regal ever to be called "wild"; Purple Lupines, blue 
Phacelias, yellow Lajdas, white-belled St)n:ax; vines which climb up in- 
to tall trees and hang their blossoms down; little creeping things 
beneath your feet; a garden, to paraphase another's words, "given 
leave to be itseH." Not to know this garden and its gracious owner, 
Mrs. Oliver, is not to know Santa Barbara. 
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