Pennsylvania School of Horticulture for Women - Wise Acres Yearbook (Ambler, PA)

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“Charles,” said Mrs. Newlj'wed, “I wonder why our hens don’t lay?” “Perhaps you don’t feed them properly.” “I hadn’t thought of that, I’ll go and get some egg plant.” “Henry, the alarm has just gone off.” “Thank goodness! I hope it never comes back.” - (This is appreciated by several of the students, we feel sure.) ar Our whole neighborhood has been stirred up, said the resident. Reporter: Tell me all about it, we want news. “Ploughing,” said the resident. If you can’t laugh at the jokes of the age, just laugh at the age of the jokes. ar Young man (over telephone), “Is Miss Smith there?” Voice at other end : “No Sir.” Young man: “Would you kindly tell me how I can get into communication with her?” Voice at other end grows mirthful ; “Really, Sir, I can’t tell you; she has beeu dead six months.” Some of our Editors remind us That their times are not sublime; But they have to work like thunder To get their copy out on time. V isitors. Dean R. L. Watts, State College, Mr. and Mrs. J. Star, Germantown, The Carter Garden Study Class, Germantown, Mrs. Frederick Gardiner, Chestnut Hill, Mrs. Hart, Ambler, Miss Mary Hart, Ambler, Miss Alice R. Shinn. Colorado Springs, Dr. A. H. Stirk, Philadelphia, Miss Jane B. Haines, Germantown, Miss Elizabeth Leighton Lee, Philadelphia, Miss Emma Blakeston, Philadelphia, Miss W. Morrison, Germantown, Mrs. J. H. Shinn, Germantown, Mrs. J. S. Lawrence, Germantown, President and Mrs. Hollis Godfrey, of Drexel Institute, Philadelphia, Miss Myra Dock, Fayetteville, Miss M. Grace Osborne, Indianapolis.

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instructive and pleasant by his courtesy. In the refrigerator were 15,000 roses cut that day.—Wilmer Atkinson. Miss Elizabeth L. Lee began on February 3d a most instructive course of lectures on landscape gardening. Having been engaged in this work for a number of years, she is a most interesting and able lecturer. The practical part of the course is efficiently carried on by Mr. Doan at the school. The course extends over a period of twenty weeks; lectures each Tuesday morning at 10.30 and in the afternoon practical work. The first class in landscape gardening was held in our new sun-porch, just finished. The students were listening with great interest to Miss Lee, when one of them noticed that three of the barn cats were sitting in a row upon the step, looking in longingly as though they wished they could “make” notes also. Found—Something that Mr. Doan does not know. A pesky little weed that looks like a dandelion, only isn't. If our professor doesn't know it, it certainly cannot have a name, that is all there is about it! Miss Jane B. Haines has kindly offered the use of her famous Colonial home “Wyck” in Germantown for the Dutch tea and flower sale to be given in May for the benefit of the school. There will be seedlings, bulbs and plants from the school greenhouses and hotbeds, sold by the students, dressed in costumes of the different provinces of Holland. A present of a box of oranges and grapefruit was recently received from Mrs. Susan H. Vollmer’s orange grove at Cocoa, Florida, which was greatly appreciated. We have also to thank Mr. Hires, of Haverford, for delicious grapefruit. Mrs. John Gribbel, of Wyncote, Pa., kindly gave us some Rex begonia cuttings, the beginning of our special collection of these beautiful plants. We are experimenting with the fig cuttings sent us by Mr. E. Jenkins, of Lenox, Mass., and hope to have figs in about eight months from these two varieties, Negro Largo and Brown Turkey. The Baines' Crib. From six begonia leaves, presented to the school by Mrs. John Gribbel, were propagated 125 tiny plants, which makes a fine addition to our collection of begonias. When we open the door to nature's energies, she repays us lavishly, but she demands constant and watchful care for her babies. Tucked in with the begonias were cuttings from 50 heliotrope, 300 alter-nanthera of different varieties. 100 coleus, 50 fuchsias, 10 crotons, 25 abutilons. The propagating bed is only 3 ft. x 3 ft. Rather an elastic crib, don’t you think?

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All For a Holly Busk. Did you ever get the “digging fever?” My father and I are fond of going off on “digging” expeditions, and one day in early spring the fever suddenly seized us to be off. We had long set our hearts on getting some really beautiful holly bushes that grew in a certain New Jersey swamp that we knew, so on this eventful day we started off early in the morning, armed with spade and gunny sacks. Our meandering train finally landed us at our destination, a forlorn little town that straggled along the sand-dunes between the ocean and the bay. As we stood on the station platform and looked about us there seemed no sign of life anywhere, but we soon spied a fishing smack down at the dock and made our way to it. The old fisherman, who had just brought in his morning catch, evidently thought us strange ghosts as we came down the dock toward him, carrying our spades and sacks. When we explained our errand—that we had come all the way down to N--------- just to get some holly bushes he was evi- dently firmly convinced of our insanity, but he agreed to rent us a rowboat to cross the bay to our swamp and even suggested that his wife might be willing to sell us some “victuals” if we would come to the house with him. We accepted this invitation with alacrity and his cheery little wife filled a basket for us with bread and bacon and a nice big apple pie that looked luscious. Then we went down to the dock again and he started us on our way in his rowboat. It was a glorious day of wind and sun, and the sparkle of the water in our eyes and the taste of the salt on our lips made the whole world seem worth living in, for we were almost tempted to forget about our holly and spend the day on the water, but the thought of the jeers awaiting us at home kept us on our way. The swamp lay inland a mile or so and our only way to reach it was across a salt marsh, so we made our landing in a tiny cove and pulled our boat upon the shore. Perhaps you have never tried to cross a salt-marsh, but if you have you know how a mile stretches itself out interminably. We took for our goal a pine knoll which lay between the marsh and our swamp, and when we reached it we were so exhausted and so hungry that we could not resist the fish-wife’s basket. We climbed up to the very tip-top of the knoll and there we built a fire. Is there anything quite so delicious as a hot bacon sandwich when you are hungry, and is there anything more deliciously comfortable afterwards than to stretch out on the pine needles! Just the tall, dark trees above soughing in the wind, the salt breeze blowing on our faces, and out beyond, seen between the trunks of the trees, the dazzling blue and white of the bay—the whole trip was worth while if only for that half hour’s rest. About three o'clock we roused ourselves and made our way down to the swamp. We chose four splendid hushes and then began our work. They were the most securely established specimens I have ever had the pleasure of tackling. It was boggy under foot and we slipped and splashed about; scratched