October, 1920 
21 
August, September and October are like three sisters endowed with diminishing amounts 
oj this world’s goods. What August has left she passes on to September and what re¬ 
mains, September hands on down for October to deck herself in during her final festive 
days of Indian summer 
even as late as March do we feel the urge of 
the seedsman's catalogs. 
I AM beginning to think that the best time to 
plan next year’s garden is not in February, 
but in November and December. At that sea¬ 
son the data regarding your garden is still 
fresh, and it is just as easy to work from the 
1920 catalogs as it will be from the 1921. 
But there is still another reason. If you 
have your garden plan ready before the end of 
December, you provide your friends with an 
extensive selection list for Christmas presents. 
Personally, I would rather have ten of those 
expensive new Chinese lily bulbs—the yellow, 
white, brown and pink Regale—than the 
smartest cravat on the market, and the gener¬ 
ous soul who will endow my garden with a 
sturdy white lilac bush, instead of sending the 
usual umbrella, will win my eternal gratitude. 
Why doesn't this goodly custom of giving 
garden presents enjoy a wider vogue? 
There must be many a bride who would pre¬ 
fer a garden started for her instead of the 
accustomed string of pearls from a fond and 
extravagant parent. A rose garden, for ex¬ 
ample, laid out with little stone slab paths that 
converge to a sundial in the middle. Or a 
perennial border planned for a succession of 
her favorite flowers and col»rs, from the first 
peep of the crocus to the last blossom of 
autumn. 
J UST a year ago it was my good fortune to 
come into the possession of an old garden. 
How old it is I cannot say, although the house 
dates back almost a century and the elms that 
shadow it are fully that old. Former tenants 
planted it. This spring it revealed its glory. 
Next year the harvest will be greater. The 
long border that edges the stone wall by the 
meadow, the little formal garden of cedars, the 
rock garden beyond the study door, the straw¬ 
berry patch, the lines of rhubarb and aspara¬ 
gus on the hilltop behind the barn, the half 
acre for vegetables, all are now ready with 
richer soil for next year. There is even a 
perennial nursery started in which new colors 
will be tried out before they are given places 
in the beds and a special corner is reserved 
for experiments in columbine. 
This is the available future of one hilltop 
in Connecticut. Next year! And the next! 
And the next! 
Dreaming of these things, I disagree most 
emphatically with Lu Yun. There is no 
autumn in my heart! 
