No parent was ever more pleased with a child than was I when my flowers responded to the touch of 
Spring 
Up the Hill to 
Our House 
THE TRUE STORYOF THE JOYS AND 
DESPAIRS IN THE LABOR OF MAK¬ 
ING A HOME IN THE COUNTRY 
by Martha McLeod 
Editor’s Note: The first chapter of this history appeared 
in the March issue and told of the selection of a site, its 
reclamation from Nature and the building of the house. 
E had now finished the foundation 
work of the place, but it looked 
almost dreary in its bareness. With longing 
eyes I often studied our landscape plan, and, 
while we could not at once take upon our¬ 
selves the expense of carrying it out, we de¬ 
termined to do it gradually. As we devel¬ 
oped the plan, we altered some of its features 
to suit our needs. When we bought the land 
the only trees near the site of the house were 
two ash trees and an old misshapen cherry 
tree. The latter our builder tried to per¬ 
suade me to cut down, but I was upheld by 
the landscape architect in my belief that it 
lent a rather artistic, Japanesy touch. Let me try to give you a 
crude idea of the topography of our house and grounds. Our 
property is rectangular in form and is bounded almost entirely by 
trees. The house is situated transversely in the southwest corner. 
To the west is the vegetable and fruit garden; directly behind the 
house is the evergreen garden, and on the east is an extensive 
lawn, with the various farm buildings. In front of the house a 
circular drive cuts out a section of the lawn, and here are 
planted the flowering shrubs and trees arranged for landscape 
effect. 
On entering the front door, as I have before mentioned, one’s 
eyes travel through the piazza door over the terrace to the view. 
Instead of shaping the piles of earth thrown by the workmen 
from the foundation into terraces, according to the plan, we 
shaped it in the easiest way, but in accord with the lines of the 
house. We hedged it about with barberry and contented our¬ 
selves, for the time being, with the fine grass. Before long, how¬ 
ever, we intend to carry out this plan in almost every detail. In 
one respect I deliberately changed it. The plan directed me to 
put nothing but evergreens about the house, but, wishing to have 
my flowers within whispering distance, I disregarded the instruc¬ 
tions, and gaily went on with my diggings. After all, the best 
use of advice is the influence which it has upon one’s powers of 
decision. The space on the left of this terrace was intended for 
the vegetable garden. A tennis court was drawn where our gar¬ 
den is now, but, as we did not build the tennis court and preferred 
a more distant situation from the house, we arranged our garden 
on the site mentioned. Along the left border of the place, which 
runs parallel to the boundary on the right, is a line of fine, old 
trees, oak, ash, chestnut, and four ancient russet apple trees, which 
form a foreground to the view. 
The next spring we did some planting, and the third spring 
added to it, the pictures portraying the result of three years’ work. 
Immediately after we bought the land we decided to border the 
roads with maple trees. I would not run the risk of failure by 
superintending the planting of these, therefore we left the matter 
entirely to our landscape architect. Though the expense was con¬ 
siderable, we have never regretted the outlay. Fie put in thirty 
sugar maples, fourteen feet high, and of these five were planted 
below the hill, with which to replace those that might die. Each 
tree is a fine specimen, straight and full, and they stand like 
soldiers on guard. With one exception, where a bubbling spring 
played Lorelei with the roots, they all thrived, in spite of high 
winds and icy winters. We were greatly puzzled by the state of 
the leaves after they were fully spread. They became ragged and 
full of holes. We could not detect any sign of bug, worm or 
blight. The hired man suggested that there might be an insect 
whose deeds of darkness were performed after sundown, so I 
asked David to shake the tree, as our man advised, but David, 
abhorring all insects, from the slippery earth worm to the loggie 
June bug, flatly refused for fear they would fall upon him. All 
my arguments were unavailing, as he had become hardened to my 
taunts while camping, when I was forced either to bait my hooks 
or resist the call of stream and brook. I valorously shook each 
sentinel till its bones rattled, but, in spite of my fears, no bugs 
rained down. Like the Peterkin family, we searched our man¬ 
uals and racked our brains, until finally the fact dawned on us 
that the breezes, taking advantage of the youth of my trees, had 
blown their spring dresses into tatters. After some time had gone 
by we planted a few other deciduous trees, and above one corner 
of the vegetable garden we made a small plantation of poplars. 
No matter how well one may plan or the enthusiasm with which 
one enters into the labors of the Kingdom of Nature, the effort is 
cast upon barren soil unless one has the help of a competent man. 
After being with us for one year, our excellent Swiss was called 
home. Next in turn came Francois to make my life a burden. 
He had all the faults, but none of the virtues, of the French race. 
The only two things he was interested in caring for were the cow 
and himself. I have a distinct idea that this combination was a 
matter of cause and effect, for each time I asked him to do some 
laborious piece of work lie spluttered in his bourgeois French that 
it was most important, Madam, that “la vach” should be taken to a 
distant field to feed on a certain kind of grass, or that she had to 
be milked, fed, watered or brushed. Until I learnt more about 
cows, I meekly yielded and wondered at the attentions this gaunt 
female required. When the hot rays of the sun reached the lan- 
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