Amateur Gardencraft: A Book for the Home-Maker and Garden Lover

by Eben E. Rexford

HIRTY or forty years ago the Dahlia was one of our popular flowers. That is, popular among those who aspired to "keep up with the times," and grow all the new plants that had real merit in them. At that time but one form of it was considered worth growing, and that was the very double, globular type of flower. The single varieties were looked upon as worthless.

After a time the popularity of the flower waned for some reason hard to account for, except on the theory that there are fashions in flowers as in clothes. I presume that the true explanation is that we Americans are prone to run to extremes, and when we take up a plant and it becomes a favorite we overdo matters and tire of it because we see so much of it. Then we relegate it to the background for a time, and after awhile we drag it out of the obscurity to which we temporarily consigned it as a penalty for its popularity, and straightway it comes into greater prominence than ever, precisely as does the cut of a sleeve or the style of hair-dressing. This explanation may not be very complimentary to American good sense or taste, but I think it goes to the root of the matter. It is sincerely to be hoped that the time will come when our flower-growing will have no trace of the fad about it, and that whatever we cultivate will grow into favor solely because of real merit, and that its popularity will be permanent. I am encouraged to think that such may be the case, for some of the favorite flowers of the day have held their own against all newcomers for a considerable period, and seem to be growing in favor every year. This is as it should be.

It used to be thought that the Dahlia could not be grown successfully at the north if it were not started into growth in the house, or greenhouse, very early in the season. Nine times out of ten the result was a weak, spindling plant by the time it was safe to put it into the ground—which was not until all danger from frost was over. Generally such plants were not strong enough to bloom until about the time frost came in fall, for it took them the greater part of the season to recover from the effect of early forcing, in which the vitality of the plant suffered almost to the point of extinction, and to which was added the ordeal of the change from in- to out-door conditions. "Our seasons are too short for it," was the universal verdict. "At the south it may do well, but there's no use in trying to do anything with it at the north unless one has a greenhouse, and understands the peculiarities of the plant better than the rank and file of flower-loving people can expect to." So it came about that its cultivation was given up by small gardeners, and it was seen only on the grounds of the wealthier people, who could afford the services of the professional gardener.

We have learned, of late years, that our treatment of the plant was almost the opposite of what was required.

Some eight or ten years ago, I ordered a collection of choice varieties of the Dahlia. I ordered them early in the season, expecting to start them into growth in pots as usual. For some reason they did not come until the last day of May. It was then too late to start them in the usual way, and I planted them in the garden, expecting they would amount to nothing.

The result was, to me, a most surprising one.

The place in which I planted them was one whose soil was very rich and mellow. It was near a pump, from which a great deal of water was thrown out every day.

In less than a week after planting, the tubers threw up strong shoots, and these grew very rapidly under the combined effects of rich soil, warmth, and plenty of moisture at the roots. Indeed, they went ahead so rapidly that I considered their growth a discouraging feature, as I felt sure it must be a weak one.

The result was that when the State Horticultural Society held its summer meeting in the village in which I resided, on the twenty-eighth of August, I placed on exhibition some of the finest specimens of Dahlia blossoms the members of the Society had ever seen, and carried off eight first premiums.