September, 1920 
TRowar (Brewer 
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: [Written expressly fo\ 
MRS. 
The Flower Grower. ] 
AUSTIN’S TALKS 
A Visit to the Home 
of Richard Diener. 
S OME one said : “Well, 
we’re off,” and as we 
gained the deck and 
looking backward faced 
the ferry building which we 
had just left, I caught my- 
self echoing, “We’re off, off 
for Kentfield, the home of 
Richard Diener.” 
Quite suddenly we became almost 
the center of a flock of angry, scream- 
ing sea gulls fighting over a choice 
morsel thrown or dropped from our 
ferryboat. I whisked out my camera, 
but was too late, the quickest bird had 
seized the trophy and made off with it, 
the others in pursuit, but soon return- 
ing to renew their watch for waste, 
uttering their whining cries as they 
floated, almost motionless, over our 
boat. 
The water was smooth and our boat 
making good time. Approaching, at our 
left, a great ocean steamer moved 
majestically toward the dock, while 
beyond another was plowing through 
the gleaming golden pathway leading 
from ocean to San Francisco bay. 
This entrance known as the Golden 
Gate, is hardly a mile wide at its nar- 
rowest point, while the bay itself is 
fifty miles long with a coast line of 
three hundred miles. 
There were many ferry boats plying 
between San Francisco and the lesser 
cities of Oakland, Berkeley, Alameda 
and Sausalito. These cities are termed 
the bedrooms of San Francisco and 
well they may be for we were told that 
50,000 people cross the bay in morn- 
ing and again at night going to and 
from their work. 
Upon arrival at Sausalito, we found 
railroad and electric trains both, in 
waiting and learned that they met the 
ferryboats hourly for passengers, but 
the inevitable barber shop must be 
visited so while Mr. Austin was under- 
going tonsorial torture, I strolled about 
the town which lay at the foot of shel- 
tering hills and facing the bay. A 
sunny place where many flowers were 
in bloom, but which seemed very quiet 
in the interval between boats. The 
usual idlers that frequent such places 
perched themselves on the sunny side 
of the low cement wall that enclosed 
the little open park, and languidly 
watched the changing scenes. 
The trains came and were again 
awaiting the arrival of the ferryboat, 
and people leaving them, chatted soci- 
ably as they walked to the ferry build- 
ing. Autos drove up with passengers 
who followed along. I realized that 
the hour was nearly up and Mr. Austin 
still in the barber shop. A long hoarse 
whistle warning us of the approach of 
the boat was soon followed by a sound 
of heavy doors opening, and the pas- 
sengers from the boat poured out. In 
desperation I hurried toward the bar- 
ber shop, and as the train with whis- 
tling and noisy puffing 
started, Mr. Austin met me 
at the door saying: “It’s all 
right.” 
“Right! What’s all right ? 
We’ve missed the train !” 
but he had again disap- 
peared into the maw of that 
barber shop. 
Very soon two young 
strangers came out, fol- 
lowed by my husband, and 
we were courteously invited to take the 
rear seat in a beautiful car, and again we 
“were off” for Kentfield. An instance of 
the proverbial “glad hand” of the west. 
This time our way led over and at 
the side of mountains amidst superb 
scenery. To our right, the valley, with 
the railroad lying like a thread in the 
depths below ; at our left, lofty hills, 
amongst whose wooded sides numer- 
ous homes were nestled. The ascent 
to several of them seemed so steep we 
wondered how it was possible to reach 
them. 
Out 
beyond Sausalito and far to 
141 
very cordially welcomed, and after a 
short delay, he devoted himself to our 
pleasure. 
We first met the very pleasing and 
efficient young ladies of his office. 
Next, the girl helpers in the green- 
house, and were then conducted over 
his place which consists of a plot of 
eight acres of land edging San Fran- 
cisco Bay and lower than the bay when 
at high tide. 
Only a man with determination and 
will power enough to move mountains 
if they obstructed his way, would have 
undertaken the task of reclaiming this 
plat, which would seem to the on- 
looker, equally great. 
His first work was the building of a 
wall probably six or eight feet high to 
dike the water back, but this was only 
a beginning, for it was not only inun- 
dated land, but a salt land requiring 
leeching'. He found that rains would 
leech it if the salt water could be kept 
out and that it would drain at low tide, 
but being surrounded by mountains 
there were times when the overflow 
from the mountains might work dis- 
aster so he found it necessary to con- 
struct a basin in his farm and grade 
his land so as to drain into it. With 
this preparation, he is ready for any 
A view of Richard Diener’s establishment at Kentfield. Calif. The photograph shows clearly 
his achievement in reclaiming a salt marsh as described. The foreground is in process of reclama- 
tion while in the background the land is already under cultivation. 
the right, loomed San Quinton Prison, 
built on a lonely island, and our host 
of the car jokingly remarked that a 
couple from Ohio were wanted there, 
but the sight of its gloomy desolate- 
ness was enough to put one on his best 
behavior. 
Our road over the hills led again 
into the valley and in the shadow of 
Mt. Tamalpais we found Mr. Diener’s 
home. 
Entering the yard, we rapped at the 
door of the beautiful house we had 
seen pictured in his advertisements so 
often, but no one came in answer, so, 
hearing voices, we went around to an- 
other side and there we came upon Mr. 
Diener instructing helpers in getting 
some fine looking Gladiolus bulbs ready 
for shipment. 
We introduced ourselves and were 
emergency and with engine power can 
drain his land by pumping. 
With perfect control of water and 
drainage, he has a soil which he as- 
serted was unequalled for quality and 
fertility. A soft, easily worked silt 
soil in which carefully grown plants 
may attain perfection. 
It is in this kind of soil with best 
bulbs, seed or plants obtainable, that 
Mr. Diener conducts his experiments. 
It being the season when most plants 
are dormant, of course, we could not 
see them in bloom nor at their best. 
A high wire fence along one side of 
his farm had large vines of seedling 
blackberry plants. These were varie- 
ties selected from among many, as va- 
rieties of special merit. And if growth 
of vine means anything, they are all 
they were represented to be. 
