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

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Spring (Gossip Old Lime Kiln Road, Jarrettown. Peggy dear: Thee must guess once again if thee thinks I can be sitting here writing letters. Why, child, I haven't time, but just this once I am going to steal a few minutes for thee. You poor pcnned-up city people have no idea that spring is within sight. Out here where the air doesn't taste as if it had already had a busy day of it, one is atingle with the excitement of “budding plans.” Perhaps it is striking in a little harder than usual because, thee sees, I am fairly living in the School of Horticulture atmosphere these days. At this very minute, I am writing in my student’s room while she is sitting there at the table imbibing chemistry at a fearful rate. One window ledge is filled with the most intellectual looking books, the other with, what means more to just plain unintelligent me, our “conservatory” as we call it. Thee should see it! There are three of the dearest little red geraniums—I am told I must say “pelargonium,” however, and a lovely primrose—I mean “primula malacoi-dcs.” Thee sees what proximity to the P. S. of H. is already doing for my education. When one knows the flowers by their botanical names—is on really intimate terms with the proper cognomina—they do have an added dignity. Oh! thee is in for it. Thee asked me to write, and tell everything • that was interesting out here, so thee shall get it, for I am brimming over. Thee couldn’t help being if thee lived here, and spring was on its way. My student has prodded me so, that now a day is an eternity until she returns from school, and there is opportu- nity to plan again together. Thee who is hugging thy furs and filling thy calendar with concerts and teas—just listen to our schemes. Thee will say, the ground is as hard as a brick—so it is, a good bit of the time as yet, and there is a covey of busy little snow birds circling around the spirea bush—but for all that, the whole aspect of the country holds a hint of spring. The tang of the air isn’t like the sharp frostiness that lurked through the winter days, and there is a sort of mellowness at high noon that seems to reassure one with a kind of go-ahead-and-get-readiness spirit. The very hens show they feel it in the way they search out every spot as fast as it gets scratchable. And, speaking of chickens, touches the first real excitement. We are going to have a Brooder—a really truly Brooder, not any of your home-made, patched together affairs where the nails never did reach the spot intended, and the pieces just wouldn’t saw themselves into even lengths, and after hours and hours of honest toil the thing wabbled like a two-year-old. No, sir, we are going to have a real Brooder, a sent-away-for, shipped-to-you-complete Brooder. A Christmas doll was certainly never more of an event. We shall fill it with baby chicks, and every spare minute is being utilized now to get in readiness the curtain-front part of the poultry house, so that it may be started in there, where there will be partial protection from these uncertain winds, and yet give the babies the chance of a hardy, fresh-air start in life. That's one plan. Another is just a wee bit wavery in our 7

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tion and a boy to help weed. My father has always spent two days a week with me and works on whatever seems most necessary. We have definitely given up the idea of employing help for the season. Naturally our profits are larger and we had more real satisfaction in the summer's work as a whole. From my own experience I think it takes time, perhaps two years, before one can learn what can be raised on her own particular soil and marketed with the most profit. Fortunately for me my father is in the market business in Boston (fifty miles distant), so that the lima and sieva beans I raise for market are sold there and also, in smaller quantities, such other vegetables of which I have a surplus. For these I have been able to obtain a good retail price. The preserves and pickles are also shipped to Boston each fall by freight and placed on sale there. Each jar shows a good profit over and above the cost. We have also sold berries and vegetables to summer people in our own town. A few berries we have sold in Boston, especially the everbearing strawberries, and we are planning on sending more this coming season. Perhaps if I had had the practical experience that is being given at Ambler, before I started in, I should not have had as many ups and downs, though I think the saying “Experience is the best teacher holds true equally well for farming as in other lines of work. The soil, location, climatic conditions, annual rainfall, etc., differ on every farm and it is only by experiments with different crops and fertilizers that a safe conclusion of the best crop or crops can be drawn. I have thoroughly enjoyed the work on the farm and am looking forward to next summer’s work, hoping in every way to improve on methods and results. M. C. 6

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minds as yet, and that is to have a hive of bees. We want it awfully, and it would be just the thing here amongst our locust trees. J never knew before how interesting those little creatures could be. To me, they have always been just bees, but now I am hearing of traits that make them seem almost human. Personally I am plain afraid of them, but “my student says we have to get over that. Thee will be surprised when she gets through with me, for she is shaking me out of so many ruts. Nevertheless the bees will have to be her care for another reason—they say it takes a person of good disposition—the point is left beyond discussion. Then the ardent dream of a hot bed is to be realized. My! the things that will be accomplished on the old farm this spring. With all this School of Horticulture knowledge expended upon it, we may expect to see results that are dynamic! We have chosen a protected, southeastern exposure, have ascertained where hot-bed -sash may be procured, gained permission for the necessary amount of heating material—nothing left to be done but dig! All contributions thankfully received. Soon we shall be ready for early trade in lettuce and tomatoes and all sorts of interesting things. And then comes our garden. A bit of farm land is to be all our own, to do with exactly as we please—in other words, to plant in common soil this great knowledge of Mr. Doan, der fleissiger Fritz, and the learned city professors, and see if it will pan out for ordinary mortals. The seed catalogues are already worn limp, and there is a drawing board with a plan pinned fast to it stuck under the bureau for ready reference. It is to be hoped thee is not getting tired yet, for I am only well started. If thee could see these girls pouring over school-garden plans, laying out miraculously arranged flower beds and vegetable plots, thee would find thyself silently scheming likewise, and making little private drawings on scraps of paper just to see what thee could do. It is only when they begin to use those dreadful, unpronounceable names with the utmost freedom, and to reel off chemical equations and formulas with the glibness born of familiarity, that I feel like tearing my hair and striking for tall timber. But to return to our garden—it is to be the most beautifully behaved thee ever saw. In the first place, the Captain of this corporation says that we are to j pend every available minute out on our plot with a wheelbarrow gathering up the stones. She says the soil must be well pulverized, and as she is quite a determined lady, I have visions of being sent out with a hand sieve every time I am caught with a magazine under my arm, or show any propensity towards idleness. I wish I could give thee the whole outline now, but it is not quite complete. Suffice it to say, there will be well regulated lines throughout. The systematic paths will be no wider than absolutely necessary. The sections will hold carefully arranged rotations of vegetables, those most practical for our own table use and for the selling of the surplus. Each section will be flower bordered—wait, I’ll ask the Lady Captain what those flowers are to be. No use—deep in preparation for some everlasting test—and I have learned by sad experience that it means complete banishment if one talks when lessons are in progress. Never mind, it is calendulas or something like that. Anyhow the whole outlay is to 8