WOMEN IN THE \ MONG the phrases that have rather 
GARDEN 1 \. gone out of use in these late times 
is one which, without being consciously 
archaic, was employed in reference to the article, published else¬ 
where in this issue, on the flowers to plant for a scented garden: 
the cultivation of a domestic virtue. 
At first sight it appears odd, old-fashioned, quaint—like a 
Rogers Group or a chair tidy. One is tempted to smile at it; 
smile with reverence, perhaps, as one smiles at the idiosyncrasies 
of a dottering marchioness, but still smile. Domestic virtues 
would seem to have passed away, together with the mother-home- 
and-fireside sentiments that moved to tears the good folk of 
Dickens’ generation. Yet more and more do those who give the 
matter serious thought affirm that, despite efforts to the contrary, 
the domestic virtues still remain with us, many of them increas¬ 
ing in popularity, and that among them is gardening. They would 
even go farther and say that woman’s place, if she but wills it, 
can be in the garden. 
The first flower, legend relates, was a violet; and it is said of 
Eve that, on being banished from Eden, she begged permission 
to take with her the little plant, that she might beautify the outer 
barren earth where stood the angel of the flaming sword. Per¬ 
haps she did. At all events, Eves seem still to be doing it, for 
wherever one observes womankind—and they are much the same 
the world over— he finds that they take to gardening instinctively. 
To plant a seed, to nurture it, to watch it grow into the full bur¬ 
geoning of blossom, comes naturally to a woman’s hand. See a 
little scrawny plant reaching out for air and sunlight in some 
dust-powdered city backyard or on the narrow ledge of a hall 
bedroom window, and tbe chances are ten to one that a woman 
placed it there and tends it: a pathetic attempt to make the barren 
spot of city banishment habitable with a transplanted Eden 
bloom. 
Indications pointing to an increasing belief that woman’s place 
is in the garden are to be found on all sides, not the least of which 
is the fact, obvious to the passerby in life, that, whereas the 
“hired man” used to be employed, the mistress herself is now 
doing much of the gardening work. Nor does it appear incongru¬ 
ous. “Years ago,” says a recent author, “women—always de¬ 
fined as ladies—plied outdoor tools in semi-shame, afraid of being 
considered vulgar or unfeminine; now the spade is recognized as 
an honorable implement in female hands.” 
Invariably as one works with one's hands comes pride in the 
work. The woman who begins by “puttering around” soon finds 
that she wants her garden different from her neighbor’s; in fact, 
she wants a remarkable garden. And with telling persistency is 
the conviction brought to her that enthusiasm and personal atten¬ 
tion alone create the remarkable. 
From the mere “playing” with flowers in a miniature plot has 
grown—together with universal growth of feminine profes¬ 
sions—a re-valuation of the garden both as a channel for humani¬ 
tarian work and as a means of earning a livelihood. The grow¬ 
ing movement to utilize city dumping grounds and open lots as 
gardens for children may be said to have been conceived by a 
woman, and certainly it has been their support which has ad¬ 
vanced it to a healthy propaganda. In like manner, women can 
be found on the majority of committees in the Town Beautiful 
Movement. 
While gardening as a profession for women can be reckoned 
as only in its incipiency, there are promises of the interest spread¬ 
ing. Schools for the instruction of women gardeners have been 
established both here and in England, and are in a fair way to 
permanent success. In addition are the isolated cases of women 
who have undertaken market gardening as a serious business, and 
made both financial and horticultural progress. From an edi¬ 
torial standpoint, the interest of women in the practical side of 
gardening reveals some illuminating facts: Ninety-five per cent 
of the garden problems presented to House and Garden are 
from women (nor is it mere idle curiosity that impels their 
writing!), and the bulk of garden articles submitted — stories of 
personal experiences with a season s work or with one special 
plant — are from the pens of women. 
Half of gardening is poetry; the other half persistence. 
No amount of commercialism can ever rob it of its poetry; no 
amount of cynical materialism gainsay the forces for good that 
work in a garden inevitably produces. “To make a little flower, 
says William Blake, “is the labor of ages.” To make one barren 
spot blossom with a flower is to align oneself with that labor, to 
become co-worker with the past, with all the effort, all the in¬ 
finite patience that made the flower. The seeming simple process 
whereby a dead seed is raised up into life is, moreover, a cosmic 
process. The truth elan zntal; the soul-blanching foe of the effete 
and the unnatural, it brings one face to face with the very titanic 
forces that swing the planets in space and spatter the sky with 
star-du st. 
Even more so than men, can women appreciate the poetry of 
the labor that work in the garden entails. To them it is giving 
life, feeding — mothering. It is to them but still another channel 
for the expression of their maternal instinct; an expression, in 
the working, of the basic note of their life. Let the alleged 
emancipated argue as they will, the same instinct that makes 
women mother children impels them to mother flowers. 
It is no mere pretty sentiment to say that, with gardening as a 
force, women possess a power for regeneration almost incalcu¬ 
lable. To-morrow will see the work pushed forward. Like any 
work of “making the crowd be good,” it must start with the indi¬ 
vidual. And it comes as a thought worthy of every woman’s 
serious attention: what part can she play? If every woman in 
the United States took upon herself to raise one plant; if every 
housewife made an effort to mother one window-box of flowers 
through a season, the face of cities would be changed and the 
countryside made even more glorious. And movements for pub¬ 
lic good start just that way — by the determined effort of indi¬ 
viduals. 
Recently there came into the office a woman who related what 
happened to a ten-cent packet of mixed flower seeds. She had 
purchased it by chance, and in an inspirational moment had taken 
her children out into the garden and showed them how to plant 
the seeds. Results kept piling fast one on the other all summer 
long, to the astonishment of the children and her own surprise. 
Next year, she says, every youngster in the block is going to get 
his packet of mixed seeds. We wonder what that block will look 
like after those children have had their own gardens! 
Were we to ask for personal experiences of this variety, doubt¬ 
less the mails would bring us hundreds of replies. But the cul¬ 
ture of domestic virtues is not to be spread by editorial propa¬ 
ganda. Like charity, it starts at home: it starts on the window 
ledge of a hall bedroom or in the bleached city back yard. There 
is work to your hand, mes sccnrs; what will you do next year 
toward mothering just one plant? 
