BY GARDEN WAYS.

Otago Witness, Issue 2695, 8 November 1905, Page 69

BY GARDEN WAYS.

"Ganlen Ways" are wide, and garden interests universal, thus an article on the wondeiful achievements of the community of Fresno County, California, if only I had sp ice to give it to you in detail, would interest you almost as much as the wonders perfor ned by Luther Burbank, miracleworker of Santa Eosa. Fresno County is to-da} r enriched by a cheerful community of 8000 homes, set in the midst of varied and beautiful farms, orchards, and gardens, created, absolutely created, by irrigation. Thirty-two years ago there, was but one house in that central desert of California where ,the town of Eresno now stands. Beneath the house was an excavation deep, where the inmates might take refuge from the intolerable heat of suoiinei'.

"Around it, as far as the eye could r^ach. stretched the glaring desert, unbroken by any cultivated spot of green."

Some idea of the richness and variety of the garden and orchard industries which irrigation has now rendered possible in this erstwhile "burning desert" is gathered from the photographic illustrations ■which accompany the article referred tc. One represents a field in which 13,(j''O trays of- raisins are drying between the rows, of currant-like vine bushes ; ano+'ier a iicid covered with stages on which peaches ; re exposed to the sun before trolleying them down to the drying house ; here is a dairy herd grazing on alfalfa in the foreground, and in the field beyond the men are cutting "one of the four crops produced by an alfalfa field in a year" ; there is a photograph of part of a hundred-and-sixty-acre melon "patch," and beneath it stands the statement (I confess it sound "tall"): "A man may walk almost half a mile across this field by stepping from one melon to another." Then the orange plantations — "groves" is the word we used in childhoodto associate with them — the laden boughs that sweep the ground! And the olive nursery during process of irrigation, and the lovely "Eanch home," absolutely covered with climbing roses — this is gardening indeed in its aspect — scarcely can we bear to narrow down to our own small concerns ; yet there is always the charm of possession—" What care I how tair she be, if she be not fair for me?"

— Flowers for Profit.—

Judging by the price of extract of violets, or, I suppose one should say, essential oil of violets, a violet farm should be one of the best-paying floral speculations in older countries, where there is a. market for such fragrant produce. Oil of violets is far dearer than extract of roses, for it costs something like a shilling a drop to produce, and a three-quarter ounce bottle containing one-sixteentli of pure extract of voilets to fifteenth-sixteenths of an ounce of spirit can be obtained in London for the very low price oi £1 Is a bottle.

From which detail our informant goes on to say that many wealthy ladies find their bill for scents alone runs up to £100 a year !

An interesting item concerning the growth of blossom for distillation — in other words, the running of a scent farm — is found here :—: —

An acre of rose trees, 10,000 in number, will yield about 20001b of rose leaves, worth from £70 to £80. An acre of jasmine, containing 80,000 plants, will produce in a good season 50001b of flowers, valued at £250. Thus it would appear more profitable to grow jasmine than roses for distillation, though attar of roses costs £10 an ounce, and oil of jasmine only £9 an ounce.

— Flowers in Japan. —

Someone has been describing the cherry blossom festival of Japan in the Wide World Magazine, and this is what he says : "The trunks of the great old pine trees were like moss-grown pillars, with which the woodwork of the temples enshrined amongst them blended harmoniously. Under them, between them, looking like a mountain mist at dawn, was the cherry blossom. Its soft blush colour was everywhere, delicate, beautiful."

And still in Japan, I cannot resist giving you a little peep into the village where the growing of chrysanthemums is carried to perfection. I took it from that fascinating book, "A Diplomatist's Wife in Japan." In the village, and, indeed, long before you reach it, every gate leads into a garden, where, by paying two sen, you may walk about and look at group after group of historical or mythological figures, all made of chrysanthemums. Here, at the turn of a path, is a shed built in pretty

white wood, open in front, and lined, sides and ceiling and floor, with a pattern resembling old damask, all worked in living flowers, which, having been put in place with their roots behind them, bloom and flourish happily for weeks in these unnatural positions, refreshed by an occasional spraying of water.

But the gardens are not without beautiiul specimens .of single plants. One of theoe was trained in the shape of an umbrella, the single stem rising straight for about 6ft from the ground, and being of the same thickness from top to bottom. At the top a number of shoots, starting with perfect regularity from the same point, fell downwards, forming a dome of about 3ft in diameter. It was edged by a fringe of pale pink chrysanthemums in full bloom, each hanging from the end of a shoot ; oin farther up *was a perfect ring of blossoms slightly less opened, all arrested at the same point of development ; 3in farther up, another ring of just-opened buds ; and close to the stick a small circle of green balls, buds which showed no signs of colour. Apart from its uncanny artificiality, the thing was beautiful, and probably represented the patient labour of several years.

— A Grecian Spring. — ■

You have been taken into my confidence concerning the charm which "wild gardens" and gardening have long exercised over me, and you will understand that a slight sketch of the flower treasures of a Grecian spring seemed to me just the veiy picture for imagination to realise, and, maybe try to reproduce in homelier conditions.

"hi A^ril . . . the. heat may be great, but it is not oppressive, the air has not lost its spring freshness. . . . ittica is a land of flowers. The violets of Kepliisia, the narcissi in the valLeys of the Peutilican and Tames Range, the rose ond rhododaphne in the gardens of Am-btlo-Kipi, the daffodil and jonquils in the ■v.cocte of Tatoi.. the white flood of asphodel among tlie dwarf pines of Ardettos, the

purple orchis and amethystine thyme on tha rough straps and stony wastes of Hymettos— everywhere the Attic world has Inoken into a foam of flowers. As for

their . . ancient streams, Kephisus arc! Hisses, they carry the drifted blossom of apple and \ ear and cherry. . .

— I:i the Orchard. —

I have thought that gooseberries are like experience : to get their true flavour and appreciate them fully we must pick them ourselves.

There are ceitain trees thai I would have in every garden, and would counsel you to consider, soil and conditions being suitable. One is the quince. We may not care for the quinces, may be insensible to the allurements of quinces preserved, conserved, stewed, baked, or even compounded into a certain delicate form known as "quince honey." That does not matter in the least since : it is for the joy of their beauty I would grow them. Though we may just remember that since quinces can be both given away ard also sold to good profit, the space given to our quince tree will surely excuse itself even c-n commercial lines. But, then, beauty! The slender flexile boughs garlanded with pink and white blossoms set in leaves of the pakst, softest green, thrown up hy the rich, dark brown of their slender branches. Tender, delicate, light against the pale spring sunshine, who would forecast from their delicate beauty the rich magnificence of their fulfilment when in the autumn their slender fecughs droop to the. warm earth with their golden globes of ripe fruit. There is something splendid in the wealth of

c.lour and the rich fragrance of a quince tree laden with its heavy," pendant fruit. The early frosts touch the leaves to russet and to gold, and find the fruit still firm snd brilliant, slowly lipeuing . . . far on into the naked winter the delicate network of fine, flexile twigs still hold light vestiges of foliage, even until the fresh health of spring sets the brown .buds.stirring and scatters the last lingerer, brown and withered, on the d'-imp eaii:.h.

The-n. mulberries ! For sheer enjoyment, who wouid not possess a mulberry tree. It loves the damp about its feet and the sheltered air of some warm., siwiny corner about its head, but has no surface gifts of decorative beauty to commend it. " The wisest tree," the keepers of oldtime gardens called it, because it keeps the young leaves so closely folded until all danger of spring fros l^ is past. No one who has ever gathered mulberries would, I think, forego the pleasure of possessing a mulberry tree, but all about his garden he will search for some spare bit of ground in orchard, shrubbery, or kitchen garden where he may provide for himself the pleasures of anticipation. It is the elusive charm of gathering the fruit that is so delicious. The cunning

vay the ctark, luscious, little cones ar« hidden under and protected by the leaves lenders the picking of a plate of muL1 (Tries a perfect feast of successive anticipation, shadowed by moinenrtnvy disappointment, merging in triumphant realisation. At tlie first glance you catch glimpses of plenty of rips fruit — and, stooping to gather it, find yourself foiled. The mere change of position has altered voiir point of view. You see nothing bub the unripe fruit. You obstinately pick and perk among the leaves in rain, anc, returning wratifully to your first point of view, discover once more a generous company of black, velvety cones ready tc fail at a touch. But even yet you have not located them all, and as you 6ecure these you lose sight of those, and before your little basket is full and your eager fingers stained with every crimson shade of puiple, you sliall have run through a perfect crescendo of anticipation, a very diminuendo of disappointment, and struck in triumph the masterful chords of realisation. And thoughts of life? Why," to pick a plateful of mulberries is to be inspired with a score of dainty analogues between garden ways and life's ways — Nature and human nature. So finish our discursive wandeiings today. I could not resist the following startling development of a homely old friend. "Cabbages 10ft high "' appears to be one of those tall yams which we instinctively refer to American soil. I recently noticetl .a paragraph, however, in which tbe editor, confirming the statement as regards Jersey cabbages, went one better, and declared he had seen them growing theie to a height of 18ft. "For the first year or two," he continues, "they give food for cattle, but afterwards are useless except to cut nto lengths, dry, and sell as curio walking-sticks to cheap trippers.