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AUTUMN BEAUTY Gather ye roses while you may, Old time is still a-flying, And this same flower that smiles to-day To-morrow will be dying. — Herrick. THE first two weeks
of September are very like August, both in bloom and
in weather. Save for Michaelmas Daisies there are few flowers peculiar
to this
period, but if the season has not been too dry Phloxes will still be in
fine
colour, the second flowering of Delphiniums at its height, and all the
host of
Boltonias, Pyrethrums, Heleniums, Helianthuses, and Rudbeckias making a
rich
display, while the annuals indulge in the maddest gayety as their
season draws
to its close. Groups of garnet-jewelled speciosum Lilies here and there
in the
borders lend a touch of elegance and distinction to the garden, and the
cool
nights and heavy dews have incited the Mallows to larger and finer
results in
their great silken blossoms. Nepeta, the invaluable, blooms again with
delicate
enthusiasm. Indeed, it has never ceased to bloom entirely, but the
cooler
weather has started it off afresh, and where it fringed the top of the
low,
retaining walls in May, it now hangs in soft-coloured mats and festoons
to the
bottom. How delightful has been this Nepeta all through the season.
Pale
Daffodils and pink and mauve Tulips pierced in succession its pleasant
mat of
gray foliage; later China Roses and white Lilies were charming with it,
and now
the long arms of purple Asters are flung across it in assured harmony,
and the
Showy Stonecrop, Sedum spectabile, finds a happy setting for its
strange pink
blossoms. The hardy Aster or
Michaelmas Daisy is, of course, the important flower of
the month, and lovely and invaluable it is, though I find it not in
many a good
garden. Because it grows in cloudlike masses by the dusty roadsides,
mingling
happily with the Golden Rod and Ferns, many do not look upon it
seriously as a
garden flower. And it is from these same wild forms that the fine
garden sorts
now to be had have been developed. No flower adds so much to the beauty
and
grace of the autumn garden as this, and I should like to root out all
the Cannas
and Salvias, so blatant in many a fine garden at this season, and fill
their
places with a tide of tender colour and graceful growth so generously
furnished
by the Michaelmas Daisies. All shades of lavender, mauve, and purple
are to be
had, besides pinkish tones, blush and pure white, in plants which are
from one
foot to six feet in height and which exhibit many delightful variations
in form
and habit. The blooming of the various sorts covers a long period, from
August
until November, but September is their festival month. They adapt
themselves
with supreme grace to any sort of gardening, and it would be difficult
to know
how to make an autumn garden beautiful without their aid. Borders made
up almost
entirely of these flowers are very lovely if one’s garden is large
enough to
permit any part of it being given up to a single season. I saw many
such borders
splendidly carried out in England and in Scotland. The gray-foliage
plants, Lyme
Grass, Lavender Cotton, Artemisias, Nepeta, and Stachys
lanata are largely used with the Michaelmas Daisies with
perhaps a few
buff-coloured Dahlias and Gladioli and the strange mauve-pink of Sedum spectabile. Clematis paniculata, grown
on tall pea-brush and
cut back severely every year to prevent its growing too rampant, is
lovely grown
at the back of such a border and allowed to trail its fleecy bloom and
later its
strange, smoky seed vessels about over the soft-coloured Asters. The
gray-foliage plants would need to be planted in generous groups toward
the front
of the border, with dwarf Asters in between and the wand-like branches
of the
taller kinds brought forward here and there and tied to low pea-brush.
Pea-brush, by the way, is by far the best staking to use for these
flowers, as
it allows them to show all their natural grace. We put the brush in
when the
plants are about two feet tall, arranging the Aster branches so as to
make the
brush as inconspicuous as possible and later clip off any ends which
show after
the plants have reached their full height. "Groups of garnet-jewelled speciosum lilies here and there in the borders lend a touch of elegance and distinction to the garden."
Many varieties of
hardy Asters are offered in the catalogues and not all
are good — some being very weedy in character and poor and dull in
bloom. It
is a good plan to see them in bloom in some nursery, if possible,
before buying,
but the following list, while not of the newest, will be found to
contain only
very good sorts. Forms of Aster Amellus are
numerous and beautiful. They are among the earliest to bloom and range
from one
and one-half feet to three feet in height. The type has large purple
flowers and
grows two feet tall: Aster
amellus var.
Distinction — purple-blue-two feet. Two other charming
Asters of recent introduction are Perry’s Pink —
bright rose and blooming late-two to three feet, and St. Egwin —
pinkish-mauve
— three feet —
September. This
plant forms finely rounded bushes covered with bloom.1 If more
white is desired among the Asters Boltonias and Pyrethrums
may be used and groups of Japanese Anemones. These plants are
perfectly hardy, coming through the coldest winters
unharmed. Any garden may grow them, for they require no special
conditions and
will thrive in any soil. About every third year the old clumps should
be broken
up and replanted as the increase is rapid and the plants become untidy
and
unmanageable. Groups of lavender
and purple Asters in front of a wall covered with
warmly coloured Virginia Creeper create an indescribably rich effect,
and the
flaming Tritoma allowed to pierce a fountain-like mass of pale-coloured
small
flowered sorts is very magnificent. After the middle of
September, though no hint of the destroyer is in the
air, a vague undercurrent of uneasiness makes itself felt in the
garden. The
flowers appear to redouble their efforts; bloom follows bloom in
anxious haste,
and the borders look as if colour had been poured recklessly upon them
“from a
beeker of richest dyes.” By some instinct the flowers know that the
breath of
the frost king is not far off and they desire to accomplish all their
duty
before it blows upon them. Perhaps there will be one more week, perhaps
two, and
it is within the realm of the possible that old November, driving his
storm-steeds and followed by his Indian bride blowing warm breaths from
her
scarlet lips, will arrive and find the China Roses still blowing,
Dahlias
unharmed, and Honeysuckle waving gracious censers over a sunlit garden.
Last
year hard frost held off so long that after the first light snowstorm I
found
the tearful faces of pink Verbenas shining through the snow and the
heads of
fresh Sweet Alyssum looking as if they had donned little nightcaps
vastly
becoming. But we
have not arrived at this point yet and turn with gratitude to
the groups of Japanese Anemones which have begun to open their lovely
flowers.
Among the strong colours and coarser growths of the autumn garden this
exquisite, refined flower looks as if it belongs at the other end of
the year
and unfit to cope with frosts and winds, but it is quite strong and
brave and
will withstand several degrees of frost without flinching. According to
soil and
situation Anemone Japonica will
vary
much as to height. Well grown, the flower stems should rise three feet,
or more,
and break into a loose spray of lovely blossoms, white, or in shades of
pink and
rose. I have had the best results with these flowers in rich rather
heavy soil
and partial shade, and I find they take a year or two to become
sufficiently at
home to create much of an effect. They appear very late in spring so,
in digging
about the borders, care must be taken not to injure the fleshy roots. In Mr. H. H.
Thomas’s book, “The Ideal Garden,” he says: “The
Japanese Anemone likes a shady spot, it dislikes being disturbed, and
thrives in
quite ordinary soil. The rootstock is woody, and a large stock may be
worked up
by cutting the rootstock into pieces about three inches long, and
placing them
in sandy soil in a cold frame in Autumn or Spring. The pieces of root
are
inserted horizontally, not perpendicularly, about two inches beneath
the
soil.” There are many varieties of this charming flower but none can
compare
(in my opinion) to the old white, var. alba,
and to Queen Charlotte, which
has
no peer in the floral world for silvery pink perfection of colour, save
in a La
France Rose. The single sorts are much lovelier than those with an
increase of
petals which spoils the simplicity and hides the brush of gold in the
centre
that is one of the chief charms. No more charming
association for Japanese Anemones in the white and pale
pink varieties could be found than bushes of metallic-leaved Rue, and
others of
the gray-leaved brotherhood are nearly as good. The “bleak blue” of
Monkshood is fine with white Anemones, and both Aconitum
Wilsoni and the later Aconitum
autumnale may be used. Mr. Th6mas speaks of the charm of Lobelia
cardinalis with white Anemones, but regrets the lack of
hardiness of the
Lobelia, which must be taken up and stored in the winter. This we do
not
understand, for here, where the mercury falls many degrees below zero
every
winter, the Cardinal Flower is the glory of our wet meadows and stream
margins,
and has no covering save that which nature provides. Chrysanthemum
nipponicum is a Japanese plant
which all summer long has been valuable for its
strong, rounded bushes and thick, dark foliage. It grows about two and
one-half
feet high, and while its large, white, daisy-like flowers have the
slightly
chilled look common to many white flowers at this season, it is still
well worth
having. This is a busy time
in the garden, for as October comes in one may, with
impunity, begin clearing up a little, making over such beds and borders
as
require it, dividing the Phloxes and other hardy things which are
outgrowing
their strength, and rearranging one’s colour schemes. It is well to do
as much
of this sort of thing as possible in the autumn while defects are still
fresh in
one’s mind, for in the all-beautifying light of spring one is apt to
feel that
perfection is already an accomplished fact in one’s garden. Also there
is
always more work to be done in spring than one counts upon, and
anything
accomplished now may provide us with a breathing space at that season
when we
should be so grateful for time to just sit and drink in the loveliness
stealing
into the world around us. Autumn planting of
perennials is advised by many who are in a position to
know, and I have heard nurserymen say that their customers get more
careful
attention and stronger plants at this season; but certainly any plants
whose
absolute hardiness is questioned are best set out in spring, so that
the strain
of winter will not come upon them before they are strongly established.
It is
now that one’s home nursery comes into important requisition, for one
may lift
the plants with good balls of earth, so that the roots are almost
undisturbed,
and set them down in their new homes quite unbeknownst to themselves.
If the
weather has been dry the earth about the plants should be well soaked,
so that
it will adhere to the roots when lifted. Snowdrops, Scillas,
Chionodoxas, Crocuses, Tulips, Daffodils, Iris
reticulata, English Iris, Crown Imperials, and the lesser
Fritillaries, and
all sorts of Lilies, save candidum, may now be tucked away for the
glorification
of the coming year. Hardy Roses may be set out, and many shrubs and
trees and
vines; altogether, there is plenty of work to do, and it is well there
is, else
one might grow low-spirited in this season of farewells and be crossing
the
flowerless bridge of winter before one has quite come to it. The autumn Crocuses
come every year as a surprise. Though I know they are
there I never seem to quite expect a Crocus at this season, and when,
one fine
day in late September, I come suddenly upon a group of the rosy-lilac
bubbles
which mean C. zonatus, poised
lightly
above a gray blanket of Cerastium, it is always something of a shock.
Zonatus is
a lovely, jewel-like thing, but said not to be quite hardy, so the
Cerastium
coverlid is much to its mind, and besides protects its delicate flowers
from
spattering mud. C. speciosus is an
emperor among Crocuses; its large blue-purple bowl is carried on a long
stem and
within it burns its flame-capped stigmata like a candle, or perhaps the
torch of
its hardy little spirit. Speciosus blooms late. It is usually well into
October
before I come upon them, standing gravely beneath the Lilac bushes, or
piercing
the gray-leaved creepers at the front of the Michaelmas Daisy border.
Surely
there is much interest and a touch of mystery attached to these frail
flowers
standing so carelessly at the gate of winter. Their nakedness —
for the leaves are borne in spring and wither long
before
the vase-like
flower comes — adds to the feeling that they are “somehow different,”
but
nevertheless one is glad to have them — the more the better. We have
here only
the two kinds, but there are others which would be worth trying: C.
nudiflorus, pulchellus, iridiftorus, cancellatus, and sativus are a few. They may be planted
in late summer and early
autumn and, like their brothers at the other end of the year, enjoy a
light,
well-drained soil, free from clay and manure. A cushion and covering of
sand is
advisable, and a ground cover of some small creeper, such as Gypsophila
repens, Veronica prostrata, or Cerastium,
is a protection to their frail beauty. The first week of
October sees many changes upon the fair face of the
garden, and by the middle of the winter the gay tints are lowered to
halftones
and there is little colour, save here and there a sparkle where an
indomitable
California Poppy stiff blooms, or a luminous spike of Larkspur reaches
skyward,
less opulently clothed, less tall, but never before so heavenly blue.
It is an
endearing quality, this of the Delphiniums, to come back at the very
end of the
season that we may carry the memory of their perfect blue through the
lowering
days to come. Many times, after very low temperature in late November,
I have
gathered a few of these azure wands, still frailer and more delicately
clothed,
but dearer far than the great splendid flower stalks of midsummer.
Dear, too,
are the little nosegays of China Roses and Mignonette one may gather at
this
season, the sprays of Honeysuckle or the wide-eyed purple Pansies. There is not now
that exuberant plenty, with the resulting confusion,
which belongs to mid-summer, and what flowers there are stand out in
the simple
autumn sunlight, that seems to envelop the world in a sort of luminous
sheen,
with a special meaning and significance. It is now that we are
especially
grateful to the gray and metallic-leaved plants, for their foliage is
in nowise
impaired by the early frosts, and the soft-hued mounds and bushes and
trails are
particularly lovely and helpful in creating a few more charming
pictures for us
before winter claims our garden. Here a late pink hardy Aster trails a
branch
across the Rue bushes — there a few loose white rugosa Roses gleam
above some
hoary Southernwood bushes, and a flame-coloured Nasturtium has burst
into a riot
of bloom below the rounds of Lavender Cotton. In another part of the
garden
self-sown pink Snapdragons in the retaining wall are lovely with the
festooning
Nepeta, and little mists of Gypsophila
muralis gleam at the wall foot. But it is to the
“bitter-sweet Chrysanthemum” that we turn in these
last days of the garden’s life with a feeling of grateful love. Even
the
esthetic Anemone japonica must
give
way before the affection we feel for this hardy child, born of the sun
and
frost. Not the splendid creatures one sees upon the show bench, or in
the
florist’s windows, but those small, spirited fellows, in brown and old
gold,
russet, garnet, old pink, and smoky rose, which linger to the very end
in the
garden, the biting cold of November nights seeming merely to tone them
up and
impart a defiant quality to the audacious little tufts of colour. Often
it is
difficult to find these really old-fashioned hardy Chrysanthemums in
the
nurseries, but frequently, in driving, or walking about the country in
the
autumn, we come upon them in the gardens of village or country people.
Some of
the best I have were found in this way, and the owners are glad to give
a root
or two which will quickly spread into a fine clump. I cannot give a
list of
named sorts, for my own all came as gifts. They love a warm, sunny
situation and
a rich, deep soil, and if once or twice during the summer a little
well-rotted
manure is dug about the roots the response will be whole hearted and
generous.
Every year, in spring, the plants are best divided and the soil
enriched before
they are replanted. 1Other valuable sorts are Feltham Blue, Peters White, Mrs. Perry Improved, King George, Climax, Wm. Marshall, Beauty of Ronsdorf. |