July, 1919 
Slower (Brower 
67 
SHIIIHIIIHIMIIIIMIIIHmMMIHMinilllllllMIIIIIHMIlllllllHMIlMIIHIIIimill iimiimiiiiiiimmmumhiiihh 
MRS. AUSTIN’S TALKS 
[ | IV ritten expressly for The Flower Grower. ] = 

The Elderberry Bushes 
in the Old Fence Row. 
TT WAS in one November 
that I first saw the old 
fence row and thought 
how exceedingly ugly it 
was and wondered why it 
had been lef t so long. There 
were evidences that at one 
time there had been a well 
Roses hung their wreaths of 
loveliness there and birds 
nested in the tangles of 
scrubby bushes and bitter- 
sweet dining on berries in 
fruiting season. Then Eld- 
erberry sprouts — whips we 
used to call them — began to 
grow and found environ- 
ment ideal. More and more 
grew, crowding out the 
built rail fence there divid- 
ing the grain and meadow 
a farm. It had been a long 
one end had reached to the 
fencing the yard on one 
farm house. 
lands of 
fence and 
road thus 
side of the 
That the owner had taken 
pride in the building of the fence was 
shown by the evenness and care with 
which the rails had been laid — in those 
occasional places that still remained 
intact. There were other parts so 
touched by time that the lightest breeze 
mingled the dust of the forest monarch 
v\ ith the soil so often trod by the builder 
v ho, long before, had, like the monarch, 
returned to dust. 
Time passed, the village progressed 
tangle in that great law, 
“The survival of the fittest.” They 
bloomed and fruited again and again, 
and the old fence row became a beauty 
spot, a shrubbery row unsurpassed. 
Tall and wide and in perfect symmetry 
it grew, and covered itself with creamy 
lace like blooms. Strangers paused to 
admire and “ didn’t know that just 
Elderberry bushes could be so beauti- 
ful.” 
More homes were established, many 
of them by people who loved flowers 
and vines and trees and were apprecia- 
tive of the beautiful in nature, and 
they loved the old fence row. The 
renters were proud of their Elder shrub- 
An Elderberry bush by the stone pile. 
and the fence row marked the line be- 
tween two city homes. The old farm 
house of the original owner was won- 
derlully draped and festooned with 
pendulus wistaria, whose subdued violet 
coloring made harmonious contrast 
with the weather worn gray of the 
building and seemed a constant droop- 
ing reverence to the memory of the 
one who had planted it in years agone. 
It was now a renting house, having 
become the property of a wealthy mag- 
nate in a distant city, whose foresight 
and speculative instinct had led him to 
make the purchase. 
Perky bungalows had sprung up on 
one side, and on the other and beyond 
the fence row, was a staid cottage also 
rented. Neither renter cared for the 
fence row. 
“ 111 fares the land, to hastening ills a prey. 
Where wealth accumulates and men decay." 
Nature heals her wounds and hides 
her scars, and in springtime wildflow- 
ers bloomed in the old fence row. Wild 
bery and the neighborhood became the 
most desirable residence section of the 
little city. It was fast becoming ex- 
clusive and there came a hint of aristoc- 
racy in the air. Even the Elderberry 
shrubs held their beautiful blooms in 
lofty gracefulness. Were they, too, 
becoming proud and haughty? Who 
knows ? 
About this time the owner, tiring of 
the strife and turmoil of a great city, 
bethought himself of his place in the 
country town, and great was his sur- 
prise at the progressive changes there. 
He flattered himself on his business 
fore ight in purchasing property in 
that section, but, looking at it with a 
speculative eye, the old house looked 
pretty much rundown, it needed paint- 
ing, sure, and, seeing the Elders — there 
were bushes everywhere. The time of 
his visit was midwinter and the bushes 
and parts of old rails, and small piles 
of stone that had been placed there 
because they hindered the plow of the 
farmer, were plainly visible, and the 
magnate gave orders that the fence row 
be cleared of wood and stone, and the 
bushes dug out and burned. 
The old house is gone, and in its 
place a modern one on whose spacious 
porch the magnate spends his summer 
days, and the line where the old fence 
row was, is now marked by great 
square posts made of cement blocks. 
Mrs. A. H. Austin. 
Labels. 
[ IV ritten expressly for The Flower Grower. ] 
Wood. — White pine stakes well 
painted with white-lead and linseed 
oil, and labeled with lamp-black and 
linseed oil may be depended upon for 
years of service, whether in or out of 
the ground. The little pointed white 
pine labels are better bought unpainted, 
if for outdoor service, as the paint put 
on at the factory fluffs off from ex- 
posure to the weather, and carries the 
writing with it. The unpainted labels, 
if written on with proper pencil, are 
perfectly good for one season, and so 
cheap it does not pay to use anything 
else, or to go to extra trouble with 
them. The pencil I have used is Eber- 
hard Faber, weatherproof 6639. The 
common purple indelible pencil is in 
favor with many plant shippers, writ- 
ten dry and then developed by the 
moisture of the package. The writ- 
ing can be safe-guarded by dipping the 
tag, when perfectly dry, in 'viscol. 
Paper.— T ough manila tags, written 
on with the weatherproof pencil, prob- 
ably also with the indelible pencil and 
then soaked with viscol, will stand the 
weather several years. 
Viscol is sold by the shoe stores for 
weatherpioofing shoes. It is a rubbery 
petroleum material thinned with gaso- 
line, presumably. 
Zinc. — Zinc strips, stamped with 
combinations and repetitions of such 
marks as 1, X, O, will last a lifetime, 
either in the ground or out of it. Of 
course a record must be kept of the 
marks. There is a chemical mixture 
which, written on zinc with a quill, 
gives a dead black record which will 
stand the weather or soil for many 
years. I have forgotten the formula. 
Note.— From Henley’s “Formulas,” 
a copyrighted book, I copy the follow- 
ing, which I think is the one I used : 
“ Verdigris and sal ammoniac, of each 
5 ounce ; lenigated lampblack, \ oz.; 
common vinegar, quarter pint; mix 
thoroughly.” This should be mixed 
and kept only in glass. 
B. C. Auten. 
Gladiolus— Fire Ribbon. 
[ Subject of illustration on front cover page. ] 
An unusual type of the Gladiolus. 
Originated by A. E. Kunderd, Goshen, 
Ind. As shown by the illustration, 
there are many blooms open at a time, 
and the spike is a long, fiery band of 
glowing red. It is exceedingly rich in 
tone and strikingly showy and of un- 
usual form. 
