I have a theory that every one in the world really wants a garden, though many perhaps are not conscious of their need. And then suddenly out of the darkness leaps life-life! Then under the black earth slow, soft, unseen stirring. That is always new and startling as the spring is.įirst just the tiny seeds-little black things-twenty-five cents a packet then the breathless waiting while the soft, silent, black earth seems to be doing nothing. Oh, well! There is a thrill in it, and one never gets over the sense of the mystery and the wonder. To plant a packet of seeds, whether in a greenhouse in March or in a garden bed in May to water them with the proper delicacy and restraint to watch until the first tiny ghost of a leaf pushes aside the soil to cry out with joy at the sight of it and then perhaps to discover that it is only a weed to wait again, to wait longer than you thought you must wait then after coming again and again and finding nothing, to arrive one day to see a small thrusting leaf once more, and then not one but another and another and at last a whole regiment of small valiant green soldiers marching in a row all crying aloud, “We are alive! We have come from the Outside into the Garden! We are here-here! It need not be a large garden which provides the daily record. In the spring, which is the future of the darkest winter days, the garden one’s imagination sees is carpeted in its first hours with crocuses and dazzling blue scillas, golden cushions and borders of alyssum saxatile, purple mats of aubrietia in its second hours daffodils and jonquils fill every corner and are only crowded out by white narcissuses and tulips of every shade of scarlet and white, and iris of every tint of yellow and violet and lavender and blue, with azalea bushes flaming coral or thrilling rose here and there behind or between.
To live in brilliantly colored and eloquent catalogues is to dream dreams unlike all others that glorify our days to pore over gardening books is to glow with joy, ambition and flaming desire for loveliness, color, fragrance and still, sweet delight. To the gardener in winter one’s future is the spring. There are a number of things and conditions which will provide futures if time and interest are given to them, but no one of them seems so natural, so simple and so alluring as making a garden.
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