A Record of Backyard Opportunity 
THE REFORMATION OF A SUBURBANITE AND HOW HE MADE HIS BACKYARD GIVE ITS 
INCREASE OF ENJOYMENT, EXERCISE AND ECONOMY—SOME ENCOURAGING FIGURES 
by C. A. Le Claire 
A CONVINCING majority of men who are engaged in busi¬ 
ness or professional work reside midway between the 
heart of the city and the center of the suburban population. Our 
home is something on the bungalow or cottage order, built a few 
paces from the street, leaving a small green strip of lawn to the 
front with a disproportionately large “eyesore” expanse at the 
rear. This piece of ground, which abuts the alley on one side 
and the neighbor’s back porch on the other, is often a dumping 
ground, the harbor and breeding place of all kinds of disease 
germs and noxious weeds. Continually warring against such 
conditions, the city endeavors to enforce laws which make it 
criminal to let the 
filth accumulate 
beyond certain 
limits or the 
weeds grow above 
a certain height. 
“City Beautiful” 
clean - up days 
have been inau¬ 
gurated in which, 
if the refuse be 
conveyed to the 
street, it will be 
removed by the 
city at the ex¬ 
pense of the pub¬ 
lic at large. Good 
as they are, such 
methods have 
never yet result¬ 
ed in completely 
solving the prob¬ 
lem of back-yard 
sanitation. As a 
result, the space 
in the rear of the 
house becomes a 
nuisance rather 
than a blessing. 
This is not so 
apparent to the 
business man, 
however, for his day begins at seven in the morning, the mid¬ 
day meal is secured during the rush half hour at noon, and 
rarely does he find himself homeward bound until six in the 
evening. Consequently he so relishes the evening on the lawn 
pushing the lawn-mower in preference to entering the house for 
dinner. The toils of the day seem to have a peculiarly depressing 
efifect; one finds it difficult to secure restful sleep. Did it never 
seem strange to you that about once fortnightly, on the evenings 
when you mowed the lawn, slumber came without effort? It 
simply means that the endless strain of mental exertion we pass 
through each day results in such fatigue that even sleep is not 
restful. The walk to and from work is not enough; it was the 
extra exertion with the mower which gave you an occasional 
restful night. 
One day my wife suggested how nice it would be if we had 
our own vegetable garden. I assented, but I had hardly the 
energy sufficient to attempt to carry out my vision. Something, 
however, stirred new life in me. In two evenings my plans were 
all made, and the cleaning-up process of the back yard was 
begun. We had changed the usual six o'clock dinner hour to 
eight, in order that every available moment of twilight might be 
utilized. The rake did wonders in the way of improvement, and 
by the third evening the little plot was ready for the spade. The 
work agreed with my humor exceptionally well, and as the lot 
yielded to the spade, my enthusiasm became more and more in¬ 
tense. Soon I found myself arising at five in the morning and 
putting in an hour 
or so before work, 
in addition to the 
evening exertion. 
Shortly, this 
double-time 
schedule became 
the daily practice, 
and each morn¬ 
ing the erstwhile 
frown with which 
I had grown to 
greet a dull seven 
o’clock breakfast 
was changed to a 
cheery whistle 
and a welcoming 
smile for the 
pleasant appetizer 
before me. The 
nights, which be¬ 
fore had been a 
burden—at times 
almost a torture— 
of an incessant 
tossing and a 
wearing search 
for rest, now be¬ 
came blessings of 
good, soun d, 
health - giving 
slumber. As my 
garden grew, my health increased, and even the routine of the 
office was no longer dull, for each hour brought me nearer to the 
beautiful evening times at home in my garden. 
The soil in the rear of the house was somewhat rolling, and it 
seems that the best of it bad been removed to grade up the front 
lawn at the time the house was built. This left the heavy, cold 
subsoil clay exposed each time a spadeful was turned over. But, 
by beginning the work when the moisture content of the soil was 
ideal, so that it crumbled without puddling, and making it an 
absolute rule to hoe and rake down to a fine mulch each day’s 
spading before the clods dried out, a fine seed-bed resulted. By 
about the beginning of the third week everything was in good 
shape for planting. I measured off the spaded plot and found 
it to be about one-seventb of an acre. There was room for six 
rows of Irish potatoes, three of sweet potatoes (although the 
Putting system into the garden: the same sort of cataloging ana intensive, efficient work that paid in the office was 
tried in the garden—with obvious results 
297 
