24 
House & Garden 
WHY DO PEOPLE GARDEN? 
HY do people garden ? 
A simple question, perhaps, on the face of it, and one to which a 
dozen answers spring to mind. They garden because they want to make 
their bit of earth beautiful with flowers, you say; or because they seek 
an excuse for useful occupation out in the spring sunshine; or because 
they enjoy the fresh corn and peas and beets which are the fruits of 
their labors. 
Excellent reasons, all, and true so far as they go. But are they suf¬ 
ficient to explain the unbounded enthusiasm and the deep, quiet joy in 
his work which grow outward from the heart of the true gardener? 
These emotions are characteristic of tens of thousands the world over— 
men and women, rich and poor. Their cosmopolitan quality hints at 
more than merely practical, obvious causes. 
Someone has said that the deep appeal of gardening lies in the feeling 
that we are “in at the creation*' of something. The seed in its printed 
envelope is powerless, dormant, dependent upon the hand of man to gain 
its chance for the great adventure of life. Tiny and shriveled and hard, 
as unsuggestive of green leaf and bright flower as is a pebble by the 
roadside, it makes us feel that the miracle of its transformation is almost 
as much a part of our own handiwork as of the processes of nature. We 
place it in the soil knowing that its subsequent development is chiefly 
independent of us, but that we can materially help or hinder it; that 
though the power to germinate and grow is inherent in the seed and the 
soil surrounding it, its awakening and expansion are direct results of our 
bringing the various life elements into conjunction. 
So we are really “in at the creation” of our garden. The knowledge 
of this may be subconscious—probably is, in the majority of cases—but 
its influence is none the less potent on that account. We like the sensa¬ 
tion of playing our parts in the game, of broadening our influence in the 
general scheme of things. 
Egotism, you say? Well- 
I N each of us, I suppose, there is a more or less developed streak of 
primitive nature, of desire to approach in a measure a simpler 
manner of life. In its exaggerated forms this crops out in the dyed-in- 
the-wool camper, in the hunter of big game who eagerly exiles himself 
for months on the Upper Congo, in the prospector who is never so happy 
as when sampling some hidden canyon of the Coast Range or panning 
for gold at the headwaters of the Magdalena. Under the ostensible 
purpose of each of these is a cause far deeper: a lack of satisfaction 
with modem civilization and a longing for more natural standards. 
These are extreme manifestations, of course, but in the last analysis 
they are closely akin to the feeling which prompts the “back to the land” 
movement. And gardening is simply a modified form of going back to 
the soil as we have come to understand that dangerously overworked 
phrase. 
Would it be so unreason¬ 
able, after all, to think 
rather seriously about that 
time-worn expression, 
“Mother Earth”? Call it 
pagan, if you will, and 
mere mythology. But if you 
are of the really elect in the 
ranks of gardeners, the kind 
that is bom and not made, 
you know what actual con¬ 
tact with the soil and the 
things that grow therein 
means in the way of mental 
and physical rejuvenation. 
It amounts to more than the benefits directly traceable to the exercise 
and the change of thought. The actual grubbing in the soil, the literal 
handling of the warm, fine earth in the making of drills and sowing 
and covering, holds peculiar spiritual comfort if we but acknowledge 
it to ourselves. 
Closely akin to this is the soothing effect of the plants themselves, as 
they attain their growth. Have you ever watched the ethereal yellow 
petals of the evening primrose uncurl in the summer dusk? Or have 
you walked between the rows of corn, the long, bountifully green 
leaves shutting the world away and giving but a glimpse of the blue sky 
directly overhead, and heard the silken rustle of the breeze approach, 
pass, and die away in the distance? Then you know how calming 
these experiences are, and how much better fitted you are afterward to 
step back into the accustomed daily path. 
These, too, are reasons why people garden. 
AND finally-—many people garden for no other ostensible reason than 
il to contribute their share to the great cause which keeps the world 
at war. “Food Will Win the War—Produce It” is a slogan which has 
come home to the heart of America. It is the slogan which thousands 
have adopted who never before grew anything more edible than potted 
hyacinths from fashionable Fifth Avenue florists. And it is the slogan 
which many more thousands must adopt if America is to do her utmost 
as a member of the Entente. Purely utilitarian gardening, this, yet 
one cannot but feel that it will, have its spiritual after-effects. 
We of America have done more serious thinking in the past four 
years than ever before in our lives. Especially since April of last year 
we have broadened and sobered and come to a truer appreciation of 
the really worth-while things in life. 
When peace comes it will find a nation from which false standards 
have largely melted away in the fires through which it is now passing. 
There will be a great and sane and lasting reaction to home-making 
in the truest sense of the word. It.will not be merely houses that we 
will be seeking—shelters to which we can return casually to eat and 
sleep and go away from in the morning. We shall want simplicity 
and sunshine, the smell of fresh-turned earth and the myriad insect 
voices vibrating through the August night. The songs of birds will 
mean more to us then than they do now; the white shower of petals as 
the May breeze stirs among the apple boughs will have a new appeal; 
the delicate blue-black tracery of twigs on the moonlit snow will find a 
quicker response in our hearts. These are but parts of those true homes 
that are the units upon which civilization is built. 
Through the soil we are being led to know these truths. In the 
world's crisis we garden that we may do our share in the trenches 
at home; but while doing it we are coming to a realization of 
how infinitely much more 
the soil is to humanity 
than a mere producer of 
food. Peace will dawn upon 
a nation that not only an¬ 
swers the urge to garden for 
gardening's sake, but that 
knows how. This our war 
gardens will have taught 
us. While we are helping 
to save the world by “rais¬ 
ing our bit,” we are coming 
inevitably to a full under¬ 
standing of the wisdom of 
the Greek philosophy which 
counsels “Know thvself.” 
THE WANDERER 
I have wandered many ways 
Through the devious nights and days; 
Trekked along the sun-down trail; 
To the morning given praise 
Where it bursts, a crimson poppy, o’er some orient mountain vale. 
I have journeyed with the wind 
Seeking solace, and I find, 
Howsoever far 1 roam, 
What I search for bides behind 
Underneath the vine-hid roof-tree where the green hills hallow home! 
Clinton Scollard. 
