Manual of Gardening | Page 5

their own yard because the soil is so poor! Yet I venture that those same persons
furnish most of the pigweed seed that I use on my garden.
The lesson is that there is no soil--where a house would be built--so poor that something
worth while cannot be grown on it. If burdocks will grow, something else will grow; or if
nothing else will grow, then I prefer burdocks to sand and rubbish.
The burdock is one of the most striking and decorative of plants, and a good piece of it
against a building or on a rough bank is just as useful as many plants that cost money and
are difficult to grow. I had a good clump of burdock under my study window, and it was
a great comfort; but the man would persist in wanting to cut it down when he mowed the
lawn. When I remonstrated, he declared that it was nothing but burdock; but I insisted
that, so far from being burdock, it was really Lappa major, since which time the plant and
its offspring have enjoyed his utmost respect. And I find that most of my friends reserve
their appreciation of a plant until they have learned its name and its family connections.
The dump-place that I mentioned has a surface area of nearly one hundred and fifty
square feet, and I find that it has grown over two hundred good plants of one kind or
another this year. This is more than my gardener accomplished on an equal area, with
manure and water and a man to help. The difference was that the plants on the dump
wanted to grow, and the imported plants in the garden did not want to grow. It was the
difference between a willing horse and a balky horse. If a person wants to show his skill,
he may choose the balky plant; but if he wants fun and comfort in gardening, he would
better choose the willing one.
I have never been able to find out when the burdocks and mustard were planted on the
dump; and I am sure that they were never hoed or watered. Nature practices a
wonderfully rigid economy. For nearly half the summer she even refused rain to the
plants, but still they thrived; yet I staid home from a vacation one summer that I might
keep my plants from dying. I have since learned that if the plants in my hardy borders

cannot take care of themselves for a time, they are little comfort to me.
The joy of garden-making lies in the mental attitude and in the sentiments.






CHAPTER II
THE GENERAL PLAN OR THEORY OF THE PLACE
Having now discussed the most essential elements of gardening, we may give attention to
such minor features as the actual way in which a satisfying garden is to be planned and
executed.
Speaking broadly, a person will get from a garden what he puts into it; and it is of the
first importance, therefore, that a clear conception of the work be formulated at the outset.
I do not mean to say that the garden will always turn out what it was desired that it should
be; but the failure to turn out properly is usually some fault in the first plan or some
neglect in execution.
Sometimes the disappointment in an ornamental garden is a result of confusion of ideas
as to what a garden is for. One of my friends was greatly disappointed on returning to his
garden early in September to find that it was not so full and floriferous as when he left it
in July. He had not learned the simple lesson that even a flower-garden should exhibit the
natural progress of the season. If the garden begins to show ragged places and to decline
in late August or early September, it is what occurs in all surrounding vegetation. The
year is maturing. The garden ought to express the feeling of the different months. The
failing leaves and expended plants are therefore to be looked on, to some extent at least,
as the natural order and destiny of a good garden.
These attributes are well exhibited in the vegetable-garden. In the spring, the
vegetable-garden is a model of neatness and precision. The rows are straight. There are
no missing plants. The earth is mellow and fresh. Weeds are absent. One takes his friends
to the garden, and he makes pictures of it. By late June or early July, the plants have
begun to sprawl and to get out of shape. The bugs have taken some of them. The rows are
no longer trim and precise. The earth is hot and dry. The weeds are making headway. By
August and September, the garden