March, 1919 
31 
THE TRUE WILD GARDEN 
A Successful Garden of Wild Flowers Is Not a Garden at All, but Rather a Stage or Nature's 
Setting—A Few of the Principles Which Underlie Its Creation 
ROBERT S. LEMMON 
Photographs by J. H. Field 
However that may be, 
there is no doubt that 
she continually achieves 
marvelous combinations 
of complementary tones. 
In the actual making 
of the wild garden you 
should keep these prin¬ 
ciples in mind and apply 
them as the occasion 
warrants. Whatever the 
site, flowers should be 
chosen which would nat¬ 
urally grow there — 
forced effects always 
look forced. Not only 
would the unnatural 
plant appear out of 
place, but it would re¬ 
fuse to thrive in nine 
cases out of ten. Fit¬ 
ness is the thing; almost 
any wild flower, vine, 
shrub or tree will suc¬ 
ceed if properly trans¬ 
planted to the right en¬ 
vironment. 
Too frequently those 
who would have such a 
garden of native plants 
create for it an air of 
cultivation, of having 
been planted. This can be done only at the 
expense of much of the very charm which is 
being sought. While the surroundings chosen 
must sometimes of necessity be created, yet if 
the chief features are copied from some actual 
situation which you have seen in your country 
rambles, they will in time take on the appear¬ 
ance of having always been there—^will become 
in their entirety ’ a perfect representation of 
Nature’s landscaping. To attain this result 
you must start right, studying carefully the 
possibilities of the situation, laying the founda¬ 
tions only after the conception as a whole is 
well in mind, and then, when the planting is 
complete, letting the garden grow into a wild 
thing without interference from you. 
Its odd form draws 
attention to the wild 
mandrake, waxen 
flowered beneath 
sheltering leaves 
Study Before You Start 
Go out into the woods and fields and marsh¬ 
lands when the first alder catkins redden the 
brookside; when the coral and gold caps of 
the columbine dot the rock ledges; when in the 
damp aisles among the trees the orange lilies 
are blooming and the great pink heads of the 
mallows make gay the August meadows; when 
the cardinal flower flames along the stream 
banks and the early wild asters are opening; 
when the autumn’s full glory of leaf and stem 
and grass blade is at its height along the fence- 
rows. Go out at these times and to these places, 
and if you see instead of merely look you will 
learn many things which cannot be taught in 
magazines or books. You will learn how in¬ 
variably the setting supplements the flower, 
and how Nature alone perfects the picture. 
Thus should it be in your own wild garden. 
To make the right start and then let Nature be 
the head gardener—these are your aims. It is 
by such roads that you will come to success. 
I T cannot be made by 
man’s hand alone, the 
real wild garden. As the 
artist fails to transmit 
through brush and oils 
the strange magic of the 
moonbeam, or the sun¬ 
light’s full gaiety and 
warmth, so the flower 
gardener fails to recon¬ 
struct the indefinable 
charm of wild flowers in 
any setting which savors 
of the artificial. You 
can have the most per¬ 
fectly designed, artfully 
planted and immaculate¬ 
ly maintained rock gar¬ 
den in the world, and if 
it seems made it will nev¬ 
er have the appeal of even 
a single cluster of he 
patica blossoms catching 
the blue of the late Marcli 
sky among sun-warmed 
hillside boulders. 
Discouraging? By no 
means. A true wild gar¬ 
den is impossible except 
when Nature alone has 
made it? No, not that. 
My contention is merely 
that you and Nature must work together if 
your garden of wildlings is to be a complete 
success; that Nature’s cues must always be fol¬ 
lowed ; that while you may choose many of the 
actors, and plan the rough setting of the stage, 
the details and fine touches which spell per¬ 
fection must be in her hands alone. 
An example of Na¬ 
ture’s frequent con¬ 
trasts between plant 
and setting. Wild 
violets in May 
Why Flowers Appeal 
If we stop to consider why any given flower 
appeals to us, we shall usually find that it does 
so first because of one of two qualities: deli¬ 
cacy, and some peculiarly striking appearance 
or habit. Often these are combined, as in the 
trailing arbutus, the purple fringed orchid 
standing lone and sentinel-like in the dark 
woods, the carpet of squirrel-corn spread across 
the floor of winter-worn leaves. The evening 
primrose, too, is a remarkable example of such 
a combination. ' To the etherial beauty and 
fragrance of its blossoms is added their habit 
of opening at dusk, when the gloom masks 
their somewhat ungraceful stalks and full at¬ 
tention can be centered on the uncurling petals. 
But if we go somewhat deeper than these 
first impressions, we come upon one underlying 
reason which is practically universal among 
the attractive wild flowers. This is nothing 
more or less than the contrast between plant 
and surroundings. 
Look for a moment at the photograph of the 
larkspur on the opposite page. How effective 
is the contrast between those expectantly poised 
little blossoms and the harsh bareness of the 
ground about them! Or take the trilliums, 
and the single anemone below them—both of 
unmatched whiteness and youth, springing 
from the very base of an age-old tree. And 
the violets, too, delicately fragrant and fragile 
in the lee of their guardian boulder—is not 
contrast one of their chief charms? Shooting- 
star and squirrel-corn, rock fern and colum¬ 
bine, saxifrage and mountain pink—these and 
many other wild plants demonstrate clearly in 
their natural haunts the power of contrast. 
Remove them to delicate surroundings, to the 
marked evidences of artificiality, and they lose 
charm immeasurably. 
And then there is the appeal of color con¬ 
trast—scarlet lobelias against the dark banks 
of the woodland stream; bluets spangling the 
green of the meadow; the white saucers of 
sanguinaria on brown March hillsides. It has 
been said that Nature’s colors never clash. 
