April, 1920 
be ours, ever since we saw one flashing its 
fragrant foam over a neighbor’s fence. But 
if we get the Clematis, how about the Anti- 
gonum Baldaschiuana, which the Elliot Nur- 
sery Company assures us is the most wonder- 
ful climber on earth? Can we do without 
that? By no means. Life would not be 
worth living if one did not have at least one 
Antigonum. We would like a dozen but 
could get along with one. 
Besides our imagination again gets on the 
job, and we see the awed expression on the 
faces of the visitors, when our tongue, after 
hours of private practice, rolls out the sonor 
ous polysyllables without a trace of trouble. 
We almost hear one of the more cultured 
ladies say in sotto voice to another, “O yes, 
it is one of those Jewgo-Slave plants which 
President Wilson brought home from Corea 
when he put down the Boxer Revolution. I 
seen one in the Arnold Arboretum or among 
the glass flowers at Harvard college, I forget 
which.” 
So the endless debates go on and on. 
We just can’t have them all and we just can’t do 
without any of them. Take it from us, that 
neighbor will just have to move his house 
and sell us his lot. O why were we not con- 
sulted, when the universe was planned? 
Why can’t we “grasp this sorry scheme of 
things entire, tear it to bits and then remould 
nearer to the heart’s desire?” If we had only 
been consulted what improvements would we 
have made. Two, even three things, could 
occupy the same place at the same time in 
our up-to-date universe. Better still, they 
should melt and change into something else at 
the mere wave of the hand or the desire of 
the heart, like they do in the cinema. O yes, 
we are sure that as a universe planner we 
would have been a striking success. We may 
some times as a gardener, but we know we 
would have succeeded as a world-planner. 
But look at that sun! How high it has 
climbed the purple stairs of the heavens. How 
it glows and gleams, like a shield, which an 
angel armorer has beaten out of unalloyed 
gold for the arm of some God, who rides 
forth- to subdue a revolted world. See how 
the Spirit of the Spring has kissed the yellow 
Jasmine’s million stars into bloom and kin- 
dled the redbud’s rubied flame on the altar of 
the hills! Those are blooms not snows on 
the Dogwood’s boughs. There has come al- 
ready a fuller crimson on the robin’s breast, 
and the Narcissi from a thousand trumpets 
peal a fanfare in answer to the challenge of 
the birds. 
Away with catalogue and dream! Up with 
hoe and spade. Out into the warm sweet air, 
so good, so winey, we wonder Bryan don’t 
prohibit it, to dig, to work, to plant, to trans- 
late the flowers of fancy into the flowers of 
fact. 
Asclepias Tuberosa. 
[ U ritten expressly for The Flower Grovser. ] 
Of native American floral treasures 
which are deservedly now becoming 
popular, this lovely one, with its beau- 
tiful flat topped clusters or umbels, is 
not yet appreciated as it ought to be. 
The reason is that it is next to im- 
possible to buy plants that give gen- 
uinely red flowers. It has been my ex- 
perience in buying nursery-grown 
plants that all of them would produce 
orange or yellow flowers. It has been 
claimed again and again that the As- 
clepias will not come true from seed; 
but, knowing how some nurseries sow 
all the seed collected, I decided to test 
out this theory. 
After several collecting expeditions, 
covering three years, a collection of real 
vermilion-scarlet shades was ac- 
cumulated. After several years wait- 
Ofye Slower (Brower 
ing, seed was . obtained from these 
plants. All have bloomed and out of 
over two hundred plants there have not 
been more than a half dozen that pro- 
duced yellow or orange-colored flowers. 
The others are all of a bright orange- 
red and among these there are a dozen 
that have produced flowers of intense 
vermilion shades, accordingly I think 
that one theory has been exploded, 
namely that the Asclepias will not 
come true from seed; and another 
theory has been annihilated, namely, 
that this valuable perennial is hard to 
transplant. Such has not been my ex- 
perience. The plants that I col- 
lected were mostly old specimens, 
some at least ten years old, and not 
much root was secured with the crown 
but every plant grew, and some of 
these roots lay around until they had 
commenced to decay. 
Ten years study of the Asclepias has 
convinced me that this superb wild 
plant has great possibilities. It would 
be possible to originate early and late 
varieties, and, if a system of careful 
seed selection from the brightest red- 
flowering plants should be kept up long 
enough, in time a race of such intense 
scarlet shades would be produced, that 
this perennial would be largely used as 
a substitute for Geraniums, though it 
grows a little taller. 
The Asclepias is of the same nature 
as the Peony. It has a long life and 
can take care of itself better. In fact, 
it can hold its own without any at- 
tention whatever. It would be a waste 
of time to plant the Asclepias in heavy 
soil however, for it will freeze out. It 
is never found growing wild in heavy 
soil; but a heavy soil would not be a 
deterrent to an enthusiast. A hole or 
trench could be excavated, about three 
feet deep and wide, and filled with sandy 
soil, the chances are that then the 
plants would prove hardy. 
H. W. Groschner. 
Tribulations of a 
Glad Grower’s Wife. 
[ IV ritten expressly for The Flower Grower. ] 
In last month’s Flower Grower my 
(usually) good husband chose to tell 
some of my experiences in connection 
with the Gladiolus business but he did 
not tell all, so I shall have to write a 
sequel and tell some more. 
There is really no starting point, so 
far as the calendar is concerned, in the 
tribulations of the Glad grower’s wife, 
for no sooner is one crop harvested 
than plans are begun for the next one. 
So there is checking of stocks and 
determining of additional needs, study- 
ing of descriptions and choosing of 
sorts, and while this is going on the 
Glad Man may almost be considered 
as being in some other world, so ab- 
sorbed is he in mighty meditation. 
One might think the fate of nations 
depended on the result of these delib- 
erations. Meanwhile, the partner of 
his joys and sorrows may sit and sew 
in silence. 
Not infrequently, however, she is 
called into conference, and her opinion 
solicited on the respective merits of 
63 
varieties competing for favor. But no 
wife likes to hear her husband sing the 
praises of Mrs. King or Mrs. Pendleton, 
or admire the beauty of Mrs. Watt or 
Mrs. Norton, or discourse on the charms 
of Evelyn Kirlland or Flora or Louise or 
Catherine or even Myrtle, (with whom 
I made my start, he says), when her 
own name is Mary Elizabeth. 
I have even known that husband of 
mine to carry his deliberations past the 
midnight hour and then not leave the 
subject on his desk upon retiring, but 
when I thought him asleep he said 
aloud : “ Now, I want ten thousand 
Peace” — and then I said, with gentle- 
ness but great firmness: “ Yes, that’s 
what I want — peace— and that’s what I 
am going to have the rest of the night.” 
As Spring approaches, my husband 
retires— to the packing room, where 
he gets so busy putting up orders that 
I abandon hope of getting him to meals 
in any way except after the fashion of 
the Dining Car— “First,” “Second,” 
and “ Last call for Dinner.” 
Then comes planting time, and after 
another busy period, during which I 
am entertained by “ Lame-back ” la- 
ments, etc., there comes a couple of 
months during which I renew my ac- 
quaintance with friend husband at in- 
tervals between sessions of weeding 
and cultivating. 
But when it’s blossom time, and 
“ Earth laughs in flowers,” and every 
morning sees new Glad faces in the 
garden 1 can retain speaking acquaint- 
ance with him only by going out to 
him among the flowers, for it is there 
he will be found. 
Here, I must confess, tribulations 
are forgotten in the enjoyment of the 
beauty of these lovely flowers, and the 
pleasure of knowing that my Glad 
Man is always ready to fill my arms 
with the choicest blooms of his garden, 
for Church or Club, social affairs or 
the sick, friends or personal fancy. 
And then, in the midst of all this, he 
goes to the Society’s Show, and comes 
home to rave about the beautiful dis- 
plays and the wonderful seedlings and 
what I have missed by not going with 
him as he wanted me to do, until I 
determine that I shall go with him 
next year, so I too, may join in the 
talk, and speak of the Prince of Wales 
and Le Marechal Foch as one would of 
intimate personal acquaintances. 
But when blossoms are gone and the 
harvest is over and the treasures are 
safely put away, then the vision of the 
beauty of the garden is still before us 
and in retrospect the joys are vastly 
greater than the tribulations. 
And so it is that, with an ever in- 
creasing appreciation of the gladness 
in growing Glads, I feel that I am not 
indebted to my good husband in the 
little matter he told about. I mean, 
the bulbs he bought at my direction or 
for my account. 
For did I not permit him to plant 
them, and have the pleasure of culti- 
vating them, and did I not let him 
take unmeasured delight in the loveli- 
ness of their bloom, and allow him the 
satisfaction of harvesting them ? Then 
has he not been fully repaid ? 
Mrs. C. R. Hinkle. 
