Despite all that may be said or that may be read, most of us learn by example rather than by precept.
Visiting a garden is usually a most enjoyable occasion, and very frequently a most profitable one, for the opportunity to appraise the value of practices and material is not to be ignored by any gardener.
The First Garden I Visited
The first garden visit I remember was as a child to a garden of an elderly couple.
The garden was on a rather steep hillside, and as we proceeded hand in hand, I noticed that all the better specimens were on the upper side of paths. That was an elementary lesson in planning that has been of great value to me in later years.
Years ago, my attention was called to a distant garden by a friend who knew of my interest in garden problems. This garden had been started by a grandfather and mother who, in breaking the sod of the prairies, would bring in plants for their garden.
Through three generations, the garden had been augmented by contributions and exchange, almost always in the form of seeds from friends far and wide.
The garden was large and apparently without form or plan, nor was there evidence of great care, but I have never seen a garden or a display that could be more aptly described as a riot of color.
Wildflowers In Early Spring
The first visit was in early spring when wildflowers were at their best, and the profusion of bloom from volunteer seed was remarkable.
This garden was visited repeatedly at various times of the year, so the nature of the material in the garden varied greatly.
Yet, the same impression was always — a profusion of bloom with little conflict. Most gardeners realize in time that producing viable seeds and securing good germination are not simple matters.
When we stopped at the garden gate of the elder Sass brother, whose contribution of iris and peony hybrids has been so valuable, he greeted us by saying, “You have come to see the flowers; no one has ever done that before.”
While he had already introduced some of his peony and iris seedlings in the East, he was practically unknown in the mid-West.
His garden was in a rather extensive farm orchard, and it was already apparent that his increased interest in flowering plants left little time for other forms of horticulture.
Everywhere between the trees were rows and plots of seedlings, while all the seed stalks on the older plants were tagged to indicate the nature and time of crossing.
At that time, he was hybridizing wide varieties of plants rather than devoting all of his efforts to a few.
Some become so absorbed in what they are doing that there needs to be more time to put into words what is done.
Gladly would the gardener show us what he was doing, but the significance of what was to be seen depended largely upon the visitor’s comprehension. In time there developed an unspoken understanding, yet it served its purpose better.
With improved roads and better vehicles, the range of garden visits increased mightily. While I have enjoyed seeing exhibition gardens, they are not my problems, nor is my garden like theirs. Nor do I care for vast fields of flowers grown and maintained for seed or bloom, and gardens composed largely of a single kind of plant do not especially appeal to me.
Having been long interested in wildflowers, three visits to gardens in the Smoky Mountains should be mentioned.
The first of these was complete, well-kept, and planned, and we saw things we should never see again, but a stop along the mountain roadside could have been more interesting.
The Second Garden
The second garden indicated great skill, yet that skill had been used to display native plants unnaturally.
Upon our second visit, we found that the garden had been returned to the mountainside forest. I doubt whether a tactless remark on my part had anything to do with this, as wildflowers can generally speak for themselves.
I shall always remember the third garden as an approach to perfection. There were four gardens rather than one, and no one was at home — which can be an advantage.
The first garden was simply an outcropping of gray granite slabs with little, gray-leaved native plants in every crack and crevice.
The second was a rock falling from an overhanging ledge, and, in falling, the rocks had brought along plants with just enough color to give life to the garden.
Third And Fourth Garden
The third was an excellent collection of azaleas and rhododendrons so skillfully arranged that it was hard to believe it was a made garden.
The fourth garden was perhaps the most difficult, consisting as it did of those taller, more robust perennials that are natives of the southern highlands.
I may, by good fortune, be permitted to see gardens such as these again. However, I dread thinking about what might have been done with the materials and opportunities.
In the dryer and higher prairies of the West, there are regions so difficult in rainfall and humidity that it is necessary to keep the land fallow in alternate years if a wheat crop is to be raised.
One would hardly look for a garden with plants that prefer gray skies, fogs, and frequent drizzles. However, there are gardeners, for I know a few indifferent to hot winds, droughts, and intense sunshine.
Most of us have learned that gardening is not always easy, nor is it possible to repeat a happy experience no matter how hard we try.
It is only sometimes possible to learn much through a garden visit, but trying is always worthwhile.
44659 by Arthur Rapp