As for the bees, many, many plants are dependent on them for fertilization, as the insects in their search for honey go clear down into the flowers and carry with them the necessary pollen from one blossom to another. Two stories I have heard illustrate this point. In Australia many years ago people tried to introduce clover, but they could not make it grow until some one thought of importing the bees also. The native insects did not have a proboscis long enough to reach to the bottom of the flower, so that the pollen had never been properly placed. Then, not very long ago, a farmer living near a railroad had his crop of tomatoes ruined because the railroad used soft coal, the soot of which—settling on the tomato blossoms—kept away the bees so that the flowers were not fertilized! He sued the company and recovered damages. So you see the bee is really necessary for the success of your garden.
Toads eat many of your small enemies, and should be encouraged by providing an upturned box or some cool, shady place in your garden where they can rest during the day,—for much of this "dog-eat-dog" business, sometimes termed "the law of the jungle," goes on at night.
Birds, however, wage open warfare, in broad daylight, and wherever the soil has been cultivated, in the fields or among the plants and flowers, the feathered tribe seek the very things you want destroyed. A well-known nurseryman, when the English sparrow was first introduced in this country, noticed many of the birds among his choice roses, and to satisfy himself that they were not injuring the plants, killed one of the fattest. An investigation of his little stomach showed it to be chock-full of rose slugs and aphides,—the rose's worst enemies!
The robins, of the thrush family, live almost entirely on worms and insects, and the bluebirds, orioles, tanagers and starlings, with the various songsters, should all be given a most cordial invitation to pay you a long visit. And this invitation? A place to live, if only a box nailed up on a tree, with an opening small enough to keep out intruders. A bird house more attractive in your own eyes is easily made by any boy or girl handy with a knife or a jig-saw, and really artistic houses, suited to particular birds, are described in various books and magazines, made from pieces of bark, sections of limb, or fir cones. A little study of the kind of nest each bird makes for itself may enable you to select your guests. The swallow, the cat-bird, the blackbird, the finch,—all should be welcomed: and suet tied on the branches, bread crumbs scattered around your door, grain sprinkled where you especially want them to come, will encourage the winter birds to pay you a daily visit.
A bird bath is sure to prove an irresistible attraction. I have seen my back yard full of starlings and sparrows, pushing and crowding each other to get into a little pool where the snow has melted around a clothes-pole! A shallow pan, with an inch or two of water, will often draw so many birds that it has to be filled again and again during the day. Birds suffer, too, in winter from thirst, and greatly appreciate a drinking place. A bird fountain, with its running water, is a delight for the rich; but a pretty enamelled tray, white or gray, and round, square or oval, can be bought in a department store for less than a dollar, and it can be sunk in the top of a vine-covered rockery or securely placed on a mossy stump, where it will bring both joy and birds to the smallest gardener.
So cheer up. Though your foes, as described, seem a formidable army, remember all the friends that will rally to your aid, and with reasonable watchfulness and care, you and your garden will come out victorious.
CHAPTER XII
A Morning Glory Playhouse