12 
HOUSE & GARDEN 
Even while the snow is on the ground the tulip is strength¬ 
ening itself for the great spring push. Before the snow has 
wholly disappeared the stalks are up 
changes by the natural mulch of fallen 
leaves and withered grasses, slowly, me¬ 
thodically, the tiny seed is preparing. 
Though dormant it is not dead. As a 
sleeper stores up strength for the day’s 
work, so the seed or bulb draws from the 
soil the power which will enable it to give 
vigorous response to the call of the warm¬ 
ing earth. We accept the wonderful magic 
which underlies all growth; may we not be¬ 
lieve that the germ of life in the heart of 
the seed finds strength in the soil other than 
is brought to it by rootlets and the power of 
absorption and conversion ? 
But, you say, there are countless flowers 
and vegetables whose seeds, if allowed to 
lie thus from warmth to warmth, will never 
produce at all. True, but are these varie¬ 
ties in a perfectly natural situation? 
For centuries horticulturists have been 
experimenting, striving to produce new 
sorts, new characteristics, greater adapta¬ 
bility to climatic differences. Exotic plants 
have been transported from their natural 
environments, cross-fertilized, radically al¬ 
tered and developed. Under the influence 
of man’s cultivation their original habits in 
many cases have been so changed that to¬ 
day, if left to their own devices, they would 
literally perish in a month. Obviously, these 
plants are not truly natural, either in them¬ 
selves or in their surrounding’s. 
o 
Meddling With Nature 
We owe too much to these far-seeing ex¬ 
perimenters to suggest that their work has 
been anything but a boon and a great public 
service. On the other hand, especially as 
it concerns our indigenous plants, meddling 
with Nature’s processes can easily be car¬ 
ried to excess. As an example of this, let 
me cite an experiment in peach culture. 
A peach pit, of course, is composed of 
two entirely distinct parts: the outer hard 
shell, which is simply a 
protective covering, and 
the inner kernel wherein 
lies all the life of the 
tree to be. In the natu¬ 
ral course of events the 
pit lies on the ground all 
winter, absorbing moist¬ 
ure and splitting open in 
the following spring to 
allow the kernel to take 
root as it should. 
Following out certain 
studies in plant propa¬ 
gation one investigator 
conceived the idea of 
eliminating this long 
dormant period by tak¬ 
ing the pits of fully ma¬ 
tured peaches, cracking 
them open at once and 
placing the kernels di¬ 
rectly in the soil. Thus 
he thought to gain an ad¬ 
vantage of some six 
months over the usual 
method of planting. 
The results were in¬ 
teresting and not unex¬ 
pected in the light of 
what has already been 
said. The kernels 
sprouted quickly, grew 
to small trees. But there 
the success of the experi¬ 
ment ended. In spite of 
all that could be done for 
them the trees never really flourished. They 
lacked stamina, lacked stature, lacked pro¬ 
ductiveness. Their childhood had been cut 
short, and in maturity they fell far below 
normal in every respect. 
One may be justified in asking why, if 
this exposure to months of severe weather 
is essential to the complete success of some 
seeds, it does not benefit 
all which are indigenous 
to the particular region 
u n d e r consideration. 
Why the winged seeds 
of the maples, for in¬ 
stance, should sprout 
within a few weeks of 
the time they flutter to 
the ground, and why the 
nut trees and the pit 
fruits demand that their 
seeds be subjected to the 
rigors and changes of the 
winter months. 
The Garden Asleep 
The superficial 
answer, of course, is 
that the maple seeds are 
soft and would rot un¬ 
less they rooted prompt¬ 
ly, while the others are 
protected from the ele¬ 
ments by their hard 
outer shells. To find the 
real answer, however, 
one must delve deep into 
the mysteries of the 
plant kingdom, deeper 
than anyone has yet 
gone or, perhaps, will 
ever go and return with 
any definite report. 
So, at the last, we 
must come back to the 
known facts of the fall-made garden. With 
shrubs, trees and flowers the great point 
is that fall is their natural planting time. 
In order to attain the greatest success 
the established plant must not know it is 
being moved. Just as surely as you try 
to shift them in the spring, every one is 
instantly aware of the fact. For long be¬ 
fore there is a sign of spring growth above 
ground, everything is awake. If you come 
along and with a spade oust a plant from 
its snug home, and plump it into another 
that does not fit at all, there is bound to 
ensue that interval which human beings ex¬ 
perience after a change of residence—an 
interval of getting settled, adjusted. Just 
as this moving interrupts all normal human 
activities, so it does with the plant’s; and 
not really until “night” comes again and 
the plants go to sleep and wake in the 
spring all settled are things right. 
By shifting or transplanting them in the 
fall, in other words, you steal a march on 
them; they are asleep then and you can 
quietly and gently lift them out of their 
beds and tuck them into others, and they’ll 
never know. And old Winter Weather will 
help conceal your trick by freezing and 
packing the soil in about the roots and 
rootlets almost exactly as it was, so once 
again they have a perfect fit. Then when 
spring comes again there will be no dis¬ 
turbance and no readjusting. 
Shut away from the wind and snow, over¬ 
laid with a coverlet of leaves, the plants’ 
rest will be perfect. “But it musn’t be too 
warm a coverlet, else things will waken pre¬ 
maturely. Everything slumbers locked in 
the strong arms of winter, in an icy em¬ 
brace that is, ideally, never relaxed an in¬ 
stant. Yet untimely warmth of sunlight 
weakens this strong, safe clasp; and then 
the slumbers are restless, and—don’t you 
see ?—bad dreams, nightmares, broken rest 
and a dull, tired out awakening.” 
A naturalized planting of narcissi, having weathered the 
rigors of winter, springs up to give the first splashes of 
color to the early garden 
