The Winter Care 
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were 
following 
ANOTHER CASE OF THE COUNTRY MOUSE AND THE TOWN MOUSE: 
TWO BATCHES OF TUBERS IN WINTER COMPETITION, THE COUNTRY 
TUBERS FINISHING AHEAD—A PRACTICAL IDEA WORTH A TRY-OUT 
^ dahlias are, I would have none of 
them. I had no greenhouse; wintering 
them safely was too difficult; and while 
I had an earth cellar where the condi¬ 
tions for hydrangeas in tubs were per¬ 
fect, I feared the ravages of mice or 
dampness for the tubers. But the 
charming cactus 
dahlias in the houses 
of my friends were 
irresistible, and at 
the local florists I 
selected, when in 
bloom, a dozen each 
of Countess of 
Lonsdale, Standard 
Bearer, and Lawine, 
the tubers of which 
delivered the 
spring. 
Planted in the cut¬ 
ting garden, where 
they could be pro¬ 
tected from frost in 
the autumn, they 
were a constant 
source of delight. 
Before closing the 
place for the winter, 
I labeled each plant, 
and had the florist take them up at the proper time to winter 
them; but, when sent to me to plant in the spring, the labels had 
disappeared and Countess, Standard Bearer, and lovely white 
Lawine tubers were all mingled. The mixed planting was inevi¬ 
table, and, as my cutting garden was for utility, not display, it 
made little difference if colors did run riot—my vases would still 
be filled with the gorgeous scarlet, old rose, and dainty white 
flowers. Alas! when in bloom, a single Lawine plant and two 
or three of the others were found in a grand medley of colors, 
due to the stiff, old-fashioned dahlias which had been sent in 
place of mine. So much for the florist’s care, and again I vowed 
to forego the dahlia! 
One day a friend left me a bunch of most exquisite dahlias. I 
had never seen any like them, and as they were the same shade 
as the silk curtains of the casement windows, I knew I must have 
some of the tubers. Not to have our floral specialties become 
common, it was an unwritten law with my gardening neighbors 
that we should neither beg, borrow nor steal their rarely beau¬ 
tiful plants. Even the names we sometimes concealed from the 
too curious. In this case hints were useless, and as I did not 
wish to resort to theft—even that had been known in our com¬ 
munity—I plainly said to this friend, “I gave you some Spanish 
Iris you wanted, will you, etc.?” Then, only when I made a 
solemn promise never to give away a tuber, a dozen bulbs of 
the coveted variety were sent to me in the autumn. Again I had 
to face the wintering problem. I studied all my data on the sub¬ 
ject, following the composite directions implicitly, and they were 
wintered in the earth cellar in a half barrel covered with wire, a 
guard against possible mice. In the spring one solitary tuber 
was found in a mass of decay. I could not make a plea to my 
Dahlias 
Martha Prentice Strong 
friend again, but my gardener told her 
gardener of my disappointment, and 
after he had planted rows upon rows of 
the precious tubers — he gave us the re¬ 
mains. How I delighted in the lovely 
flowers that autumn! They trans¬ 
figured our living room. 
I studied the all-important 
subject of win¬ 
tering ; to fail 
again was to be 
lost—and I did 
not fail. After 
the frost killed 
the tops, we left 
them in the 
ground for 
about ten days. 
On a mild day, 
when the sun¬ 
shine and fresh 
breeze suggested 
the awakening 
of spring rather 
than the frui¬ 
tion of autumn, 
they were care¬ 
fully dug up 
with plenty of 
earth around 
them, which 
soon dried out in the sun and wind. We placed broad planks on 
one side of the earth cellar on which we banked up half of them 
with dry earth, covering them entirely, and the other half I had 
shipped to our town house, where I could watch them. No mice, 
dampness or frost in my cellar there. These were put in a box 
as far away from the furnace as possible, where it was cool, and 
covered with sand. To my delight in the spring, the aristocrats 
of the city were in perfect condition; several tiny shoots had 
already developed on each healthy clump, only a few of the 
smaller tubers of which had shriveled. I could hardly wait until 
I knew the condition of their country brethren. Great was my 
joy to find that these were finer than my petted city darlings, and 
seemed to have developed twice their size. The eyes were much 
stronger, there were no dry tubers, and they were absolutely 
free from mold, the dry earth in which they were banked having 
absorbed every vestige of dampness. 
That none had lost vitality by shriveling was soon apparent. At 
the beginning of May we had chosen a spot well protected from 
high winds, but where abundant sunlight and air would feed color 
and strength to the blossoms, and prepared the soil. I have dis¬ 
covered that, in the last analysis, the kind of soil is not so impor¬ 
tant except in its ability to hold moisture during severe droughts. 
The average garden soil is sufficient — in fact, any soil that will 
grow corn will grow dahlias, if other conditions are favorable. 
Clear sand, clay or gravel — little difference is shown so long as 
the proper amount and kind of fertilizer is used. 
By the 20th of May I also had rows upon rows of them planted, 
my problem had been solved, the conditions of country care had 
proved superior to those of the city, and I pass on the results to 
gladden the hearts of other amateur gardeners. 
146 
