CHAPTER VII
Perennials
To begin with the hardy perennials—which, to be effective, should be in a border of their own. At the outset, this should be made free of stones, then mellow the earth as far down as two feet. At the bottom put in about one foot of well-seasoned manure. Now add leaf-mold, a little peat, a sprinkling of wood ashes, and a top layer of sifted garden loam. If the soil be clayey, add some fine pure sand, to keep it friable.
Seeds of perennials are naturally slow in germinating—their time of coming up being a period varying from one week to two months. It may here be stated that all perennial plants undergo a period of rest. It is not certain that this "rest" is in any sense a recuperation. It is supposed to be a hereditary trait induced by natural environment—a means by which the plant resists untoward circumstances of climate. In the tropics, plants rest during dry seasons, in much the same manner as during our Northern winters.
Investigations—so far—show that this hereditary trait has not been entirely overcome by culture. Any attempt of the cultivator to ignore this resting period is apt to injure the plant, from the fact that any energy used in abnormal development may be subtracted from subsequent growth or development.
Before I had taken this "old-time garden" in hand—fashioning new borders, and freeing the old from encumbering jungles—many plants, both annual and perennial, had, no doubt, found place in it as before stated. Groups of blue-eyed periwinkle still held their own among usurping forces. A discouraged day-lily looked forlornly out of the tangle, where year by year a courageous double English violet shyly perfected a blossom or two. Here and there a straggling bush of blush roses reached out for the June sunshine, and, to my delight, I found—half strangled among the over-growth—my old acquaintance, a pink flowering almond. The dear old thing was "on its last legs." We carefully removed it to kindlier quarters.
Straightway it took heart, and sending up new green shoots, gave us, that very year, upon "the parent stem" a tuft or two of rosy bloom.
Now, after ten years of high living, it has become an illustrious shrub; and to sit in the old garden in the May-time while the shadows and sunshine dance together on the lawn and vernal odors sweeten all the air, watching the long pink wreaths of flowering almond sway in the south wind, is to lend one's self to the divine gladness of spring, and know that simple joy in living, that is the birthright of all God's creatures in this—His beautiful and perfect—world.
The flowering almond has been often divided, and all about the garden its rosy wreaths may now be seen.