October, 1919 
Slower (Brower 
99 
MRS. AUSTIN’S TALKS 
: [ Written exfresily for The Flower Grower. ] 
i Time is Money in 
Gladiolus Digging. 
I T HAD COME October’s 
turn to be hostess to the 
year, and she was enter- 
ing upon her duties with 
ardent enthusiasm. She had 
quietly observed the turbu- 
lent preparation of the early 
months as they opened their 
reservoirs of moisture for 
' the fruitfulness of the seasons to come ; 
| the beautiful garlanded promises of 
■ June and her sister months, and their 
fulfillment in the summer and early 
1 autumn. She acknowledged that they 
i had done well, but they had not given 
1 all, there was much left for her to 
» present. The corn would be freed from 
the shock and laid in yellow heaps ; 
the last picking of apples gathered into 
rosy piles ready to be carried quickly 
! into their winter storage. Then there 
| were the ripened nuts, October’s very 
I own ; and the great crop of wonderful 
y 1 Gladiolus bulbs, most of which would 
be taken from the ground during her 
supremacy. She would also give a 
i beauty unthought of by the other 
■ months and smilingly she kissed the 
| forests into crimson and gold, deepened 
| the scarlets and purples of the berried 
I vines, loosened the leaves to be in readi- 
I ness for the gusty winds of her later 
days. 
In the midst of all this transition, 
the little woman of the woods was 
! slowly gathering in her harvest of 
bulbs. She had been so interested in 
| them and so eager for them to attain 
1 the greatest size possible that she had 
left them in the ground and kept them 
| well cultivated until after frosts had 
come and the foliage had changed to 
: brown. She was sure that the large 
ones had completed their growth and 
hoping that the small ones might gain 
I still a little more, she left them until 
1 1 the last. She dug the large ones with 
|j a fork, taking them out carefully and 
j laying them in piles and after finishing 
I a row, would go back, cut the tops off 
with a knife, and drop them into 
baskets. That done, she commenced 
with the bulblet grown, or planting 
stock, loosening it with a fork as she 
i had the large bulbs, but the ripened 
J tops of the planting stock broke away 
from the little bulbs like dead grass 
and although well loosened in the soil 
it was impossible to get them only by 
j picking them out with her fingers. 
They were well ripened and ranged 
in size from diameter of § inch to 1 
inch with an occasional larger one. 
Day after day she spent long tiresome 
hours down on her knees picking out 
the bulbs. There were heavy dews 
which drabbled her skirts and covered 
her shoes with damp and often wet 
earth, but if she waited until the sun 
dried the dew away, it shortened her 
time for work. She was getting worn 
and tired but still worked desperately. 
She thought of the work of rooting 
that Louise had hinted 
about, and tried a few of 
the large bulbs which were 
so tough and hard to sep- 
arate from the old bulb root 
that it alarmed her. She 
was afraid she could not do 
it and if she could — she 
thought wearily — where 
would or could she sell them 
and would it pay. O, it 
must pay, for her money, 
all her savings, were in them. She 
must have it or — her morbid shiver of 
apprehension was accompanied by a 
whistling gust of wind which brought 
down golden showers of leaves that 
settled lightly on and around her. In 
nervous despondency she wondered if 
she were unable to return to the house 
if the leaves should cover her over, 
and the wind seemed to whistle dis- 
mally, c-o-v-e-r h-e-r o-v-e-r. There was 
a change in the weather, it was getting 
colder fast and occasional snowflakes 
were in the air. With fingers numb 
and sore and worn almost to exhaus- 
tion, she returned to the house and 
sank wearily on the bed. 
She was awakened by the glare of 
sunshine which showered with splendor 
her tiny room and its homely belong- 
ings, but the keen sharpness of the air 
brought recollection of the evening 
before and as she arose and saw her 
little world blanketed with sparkling 
snow she knew it had not been a hor- 
rible nightmare, but the plain bare 
truth, and her lips quivered when her 
eyes rested on the roundish mounds of 
snow that covered the bulbs. Probably 
they were frozen now, she thought. 
“ Hoo — hoo, hoo— hoo anyone at 
home here ?” It was Louise’s voice, 
strong and clear. 
“Yes, I’m here,” answered the little 
woman, quaveringly. “How did you get 
in ?” 
“ Well, since the door was wide open, 
I took it as an invitation and walked 
right in,” replied Louise, then seeing 
her, “ Why, what is the trouble, you 
are all in a tremble ?” 
That opened the floodgates and the 
little woman sobbed out her troubles 
on Louise’s shoulder. 
“There, there, don’t worry about 
the bulbs. They are only having their 
faces washed ; they are all right. I 
came over to bring you an order for 
nearly all you have,” suddenly resolv- 
ing to buy those bulbs herself if it 
took every cent of her winter allow- 
ance. “ I’m hungry, aren’t you going 
to invite me to eat breakfast with 
you ?” looking smilingly at the clock 
which was striking ten. A good break- 
fast and cheerful company worked 
wonders, and soon the little woman 
was herself again. 
“ I meant to come earlier and get 
you started right,” said Louise, “ but 
there were so many things to prevent. 
You have a grand crop of perfectly 
beautiful bulbs, but you made yourself 
much extra trouble and expense in 
harvesting them. You see,” she ad 
ded earnestly, “it doesn’t matter so very 
much whether the planting stock is so 
well ripened. It will start into growth 
next year just as quickly and grow 
just as well as it would from the fully 
ripened brown bulbs that you have 
here. Of course you could not do that 
with some things, but it works all 
right with Gladiolus bulbs. The best 
time to dig them is when they have 
made a good growth, but are still green 
enough so that the bulbs will hang to 
the grasslike tops. You see, its like 
this,” and in pantomine she grasped a 
large bunch of imaginary tops, slipped 
her right hand into the loosened soil 
underneath the bulbs, lifted them 
gently, gave a little shake to get the 
loose dirt off, then with her right hand 
broke off the entire bunch of bulbs 
with one little quick twist. “ Its fun 
to dig them this way and can be done 
in less than half the time it takes when 
they are ripe and have to be picked 
out. If any should break off, pick 
them up, but do not bother with all 
those tiny bulblets unless the variety 
is very valuable. You could not have 
hired those dug the way you did for 
less than a large sum of money, but 
any one could dig them green for 
much less. Its one of those glaring 
instances where time is money. On 
the other hand, time is money when 
the large bulbs are left in the ground 
as long as they are making growth, 
and without risk of severe freezing, 
unless required for early fall shipment. 
The blooming bulbs do not put on size 
very much until the flowers are gone. 
Then, with good cultivation, they will 
grow very fast, and as they are sold 
according to their diameter, some- 
times even a few days more will add a 
growth of a quarter of an inch to the 
diameter and thus change it from a 
No. 2 to a No. 1 size, thus adding a 
commercial value of from $2.00 to $5.00, 
and sometimes more than that on a 
1000 lot. So you see that in Gladiolus 
digging, time is money when the plant- 
ing stock is dug early and again when 
the large ones are dug late.” 
Louise paused, then looking at the 
drabbled dress, she said : “ Dresses are 
out of fashion for such Farmerettes 
as you and I. See the khaki suits,” 
opening her bag, “ with stitched 
patches on the elbows and knees,” 
and laughing at the amazed expres- 
sion, “ they will be becoming to you I 
am sure,” and looking out through the 
door, “ I don’t see how you can work 
amidst all this paradise of color. This 
bit of snow will soon be gone and we’ll 
have a lovely Indian summer, long 
enough to finish these few bulbs ; so 
put on high shoes with your suit and 
we will have a run through these glo- 
rious woods.” The little woman hung 
her head. She had been seeing only 
the morbid slough of life, and she 
now realized that cultural information 
sought from experienced growers or 
through floral magazines would have 
brought her the joys of success. The 
tall trees looking on sighed in happy 
thankfulness as they sent their leaves 
softly and silently to the ground. 
Mrs. A. H. Austin. 
