30 
HOUSE & GARDEN 
make gay this corner of the place. She loved her garden 
and how tenderly she cared for it! How proudly she always 
opened the little gate to show us her treasures. There are 
many gardens more lovely, more wonderfully and artistically 
arranged and cared for. 
There are many gardens covering acres of land and yield¬ 
ing a wealth of bloom, but never have I seen a garden upon 
which more love was expended. The days were the busiest 
one for the owner of this garden. The weeks were full of 
heavy work in the field and house and garden, 
yet never were the duties of the day too numer¬ 
ous to prevent her going into her garden to en¬ 
joy it and to work in it. Each little plant and 
bush, bud and flower was watched and caressed 
and cared for. Her face was transformed as 
she worked in the little fenced-in spot. Through 
the winter months, as she sat by the south win¬ 
dow, she must have looked often at her flower 
garden and have longed for the springtime 
when again the little growing things would re¬ 
spond to her loving care. A board seat was built on to the 
garden fence where we would sometimes sit in the sunshine, 
while we rested and said the few things that were understood 
between us. 
The fringed gentians were blossoming in the ravine on the 
north and west of her house, but she did not see their beauty. 
She probably loved the birch woods across the road, but naught 
knew she of the dear little hepaticas and blood root, the 
anemones, trillums, ferns, spring beauties and mandrakes that 
were hidden away so carefully under the golden leaves of the 
birch trees. She doubtless did not long for the day when 
the veery again would build her nest while the glorious songs 
of both veery and wood thrush would come sweetly at the 
twilight hour. No, she did not love the blue flower, and she 
looked at us in wonder as we came hot and tired after a climb 
up the bank and down into the ravine for the beautiful fringed 
gentians. 
Her mind was full of other things as she sat there in 
the sweet October sunshine. She must have thought many 
times of the day long ago when she and her husband left 
old Bohemia. She could see the little sailing vessel that bore 
them across the water, and she must have shuddered often 
when she recalled the twelve long, weary weeks on the wa¬ 
ter. Sometimes as we sat together a cloud would cross her 
face and I knew that she was thinking of the little baby boy 
they lost and laid away in the land they left so many years 
ago. He was her only child, and fifty years had passed since 
he left her and now she was an old woman and her days 
not long. No, she did not know the blue flower, but she knew 
that put away carefully in the bureau drawer in the parlor 
were her “grave clothes” ready for her and that some day 
(as she told us when she showed us the contents of the 
drawer) she should go and find her little boy. 
In the meantime 
there was the gar¬ 
den to care for, 
poppy seed to 
gather, dry a n d 
screen for the kol- 
aces that are dear 
to every Bohemian. 
The cow and calf 
needed her; Jo, the 
o 1 d horse, whin¬ 
nied for his oats, 
and the corn and 
pumpkins were re¬ 
minders of busy 
days to come. 
One day she 
greeted us with a 
waving of her 
arms and a tear- 
stained face. After 
a little she made 
us know that she 
was indeed alone. 
Her husband had been stricken with pneumonia and, after a 
few days’ illness, had left her. When we sat on the little 
bench and listened to her — “oh boze, boze’’ and thought 
of the long, lonely years to come — we were not surprised when 
she led us in to show us again the “grave clothes” and to see 
her look of longing as she tenderly laid them away. But time 
does soften all grief and a brave heart takes up the throb 
and goes on again, and the little old woman in the yellow 
house greets us with the same cheerful welcome now as she 
did long ago, but there is in her face a touch of 
sadness and in her eyes an expression that was 
never there before. 
The bright October sunshine enticed me along 
the path to the little yellow house not long ago. 
Blue jays were calling, white throats and gold 
finches, all dressed in new fall clothes, were send¬ 
ing out snatches of their songs, boys were whist¬ 
ling along the road, happy in the crisp air and 
proud of the bags full of nuts that they had 
gathered. Leaves flew about—red, brown and 
golden, as if they too were happy and glad of the beautiful 
day. Farmers were busy husking corn and gathering in the 
great red piles of apples. I met women with baskets of mush¬ 
rooms on their arms. As I pushed aside the wild grape vine 
that grew over the gate to the yellow house and once more 
lifted the latch, I found that she too was one of the busy 
ones who was getting ready for winter. Her barn had been 
filled with hay; the garden was cleared and had been made 
ready for the spring crop. A pile of golden pumpkins was 
waiting its turn as were the beets that she nodded to saying 
(fearing that in my city ignorance I would not understand) 
“For cow.” Another Bohemian woman was with her and 
together they had harvested the crop and were storing it away. 
A friend of mine was with me who wore a pretty silk gown 
and hat. One glance at the finery and all work ceased, and 
such a jabbering and gesticulating; such a lot of questioning 
and then feeling of the silk material one never heard. I 
trembled for the housing of the harvest for the afternoon 
was growing chill, but they trembled not. Discussion evidently 
followed discussion about the dress, shoes and silk umbrella 
and hat. Then the brightly colored woolen kerchiefs that the 
Bohemian women always wear over their heads, were quickly 
untied and thrown aside and each in turn tried on the stylish 
hat and carried the fancy umbrella. 
The picture of these women in their stockinged feet, clothed 
in the print gowns such as they always wear, and topped off 
with up-to-date millinery and umbrella, I shall never forget. 
They acted out the part to perfection, mincing and swaying 
about, putting on more airs than did ever any society coquette. 
Up and down in front of and around the piles of pumpkins 
they went, in and out between the rows of beets, until tired 
and breathless they sank down on the pile of pumpkins and 
The cow and calf came down to the 
bars and looked on 
questioningly. Jo 
stopped eating his 
hay to watch the 
fun; even the lit¬ 
tle home- made 
windmill, that had 
been put near the 
flower garden to 
scare the chickens 
away, seemed to 
pause for a mo¬ 
ment or so, though 
there was quite a 
breeze. 
rocked with laughter. 
Many times she must 
have recalled the 
day when she and 
her husband left 
o 1 d Bohemia to 
stake out this 
claim in the Wis¬ 
consin woods 
