Our collection has been enlarged entirely through cuttings. I cut off about six inches from the end of branches, close to a bud. These cuttings are allowed to stand in water for two or three days, then planted in shallow boxes filled with moist, rich soil, and kept in a light, warm cellar, where the temperature averages about fifty degrees. The following year they are planted out into nursery beds until August, when they are set out in their permanent homes. Last summer I transplanted ten straight from the cellar into a garden bed, and by July they were two and a half feet high, and bore from four to seven blossoms each from August to September 15th, when we had a hard, frosty night, which checked all development.
If cuttings are intended for winter forcing, proceed as before until the second spring, then transplant into pots, which should be plunged to the rim in the ground.
About once a week turn the pots around, to prevent any roots which may force their way through the bottom of the pot from getting a hold on the ground. At the same time nip off any flower buds which may appear. Feed well, to promote growth, and about July have the benches in the hothouse filled up with rich soil, to which has been added a goodly percentage of silver sand. Remove the plants from the pots, and set out about fifteen inches apart. Of course, the fire must not be started in the heating apparatus, and all windows and doors must be kept open, so that the plants have plenty of air, and during the hot, close days, they should be lightly sprayed three or four times a day. After the first of September there is danger of frost, so it is best to close the windows at night, but the principal desire is to keep the plants cool to permit their growth until the fires are lighted and forcing really begins, which should be about October. When the fires are first lighted, keep the temperature down to about fifty-five degrees, increase slowly to sixty-five, then to seventy.
Watering is a great problem, and nothing but practice can really teach you the exact proportions. The only general instruction is: The plant must never be allowed to dry out, nor must it ever be too wet. A spray for green fly and other insects should be used in the evening, once or twice a week, from the time the plants are taken from the garden into the house.
LAVENDER AND HERBS
There should be an herb bed in every garden, for their usefulness is manifold. Ye dames of olden times knew and estimated their value, but when housewifery was metamorphosed into domestic science, the traditional law of our grandmothers sank into derision, and many factors of homey comfort might forever have been buried in oblivion had not some wise person started a craze for old furniture. That aroused a general interest in the old-time housewifery, and resulted in a revival of half-forgotten arts, the hardy garden and herb bed being among them.
I spent most of my schoolday holidays at my grandmother’s place in Yorkshire, England, where many of the customs of Queen Anne’s time remain unchanged. So to me lavender and herbs seemed indispensable in a self-respecting household, and as soon as I owned a garden they were installed. Perhaps you never experienced the delight of sleeping between sheets redolent of sweet herbs, so don’t know what you are missing. At grandmother’s, sheer muslin bags were filled with lavender, thyme and rosemary, and kept in every cupboard, bureau drawer and chest. Large jars filled with rose-leaves and mignonette, all the herbs and many spices were stowed in the sitting-rooms and halls, and the lids were removed for about half an hour after sweeping and dusting were completed, so a faint, indescribable perfume permeated the whole house, and was most delightful. Punk sticks and pastils have such a positive odour that after a time one becomes very tired of them, but herbal odours, being delicate and indescribable, merely suggest the freshness of meadow lands in June, and invigorate the senses instead of wearying.
The herb then is invaluable for all sorts of complexion and hair washes. Even Helen of Troy’s beauty was attributed to their use. As disinfectants—well, the plague was supposed to be banished from Athens by the air being purified with aromatic herbs, and during the great plague in England in Elizabeth’s time, little balls of perfume paste encased in silver, gold or ivory, open-worked lockets or pomades were worn suspended round the neck or carried in the pockets, and during an outbreak of smallpox, grandmamma brought forth several such inherited treasures and filled them with a compound made of beeswax, herbs and spices, and we all wore them in the old way. What influence they exercised over the dreaded disease I do not pretend to gauge, but we all escaped. Separate or mingled fate and superstition has made me use such compounds whenever travelling or knowingly exposed to infection. Even medical men don’t deny the benefit of sweet odours, or their value as disinfectants, so why should not we enjoy the undoubted pleasure when it only means a few packages of seeds and a little trouble.
Lavender is hardy when it is once firmly established, but it is not the easiest perennial to start in this country. At first I bought nursery stock, but out of two dozen plants which I got from four different sources during two years, only one lived, and that was always a semi-invalid, so I resorted to the slower method of sowing seed. In March, a shallow box was filled with potting mould thoroughly soaked with water, then covered with about one-fourth of an inch of soil, patted down firmly, the box covered with glass, and placed in a west window. As soon as seedlings appeared the glass was removed, but they were shaded from the direct sun and slightly sprinkled every morning. When two inches high they were transplanted to a deeper box and set two inches apart. About two months later they were transplanted to a partly-shaded seed-bed in the garden, and the last two leaves were nipped off each plant to insure a bushy growth. Cultivation was constant all through the summer until August, when they were again transplanted—this time into a bed which was to be their permanent home—a border partly shaded by shrubs. It happened to be a very dry summer, so they were sprinkled every evening. When cool weather set in, leaves were scattered between the plants, and the quantity increased as the weather became more severe. In the spring the mulch was removed, and a little bone meal raked into the ground around the plants. The ground must be covered every winter, and it is well to have a dressing of well-rotted cow manure dug into the bed during the early fall.