Natalie: A Garden Scout

CHAPTER VI – NATALIE BEGINS HER PLANTING

The singing of the birds, nested in the old red maple tree that overshadowed the house on the side where Natalie’s room was, roused her from the most restful sleep she had had in months. No vibration of electricity such as one constantly hears and feels in the city, no shouting of folks in the streets, no milkman with his reckless banging of cans, no steamboat’s shrieks and wails such as one hears when living on the Drive, disturbed the peace and quietude of the night in the country.

“Oh my! I hope I haven’t overslept,” thought Natalie, as she sat up, wide awake. She looked at the clock on the table and could scarcely believe it was but five minutes of five.

“Why, it feels like eight to me!” she said to herself, as she sprang from bed and ran to sniff the delightful fresh air that gently waved the curtains in and out of the opened windows.

“I’m going to surprise Jimmy! I’ll be dressed and out in the garden before she wakes up,” giggled the girl, hastily catching up her bath-towel and soap, and running stealthily along the hall to the bathroom.

But her plans were not realized, because Mrs. James was up and down-stairs before Natalie ever heard the birds sing. She sat on the piazza sorting some bulbs and roots she had brought from the city in her trunk.

After Natalie was dressed, she tiptoed to Mrs. James’ door and turned the knob very quietly so the sleeper should not awake. But she found the bed empty and the room vacated.

Down-stairs she flew, and saw the side door open. She also got a whiff of muffins, and knew Rachel was up and preparing an early breakfast. Out of the door she went, and stood still when she found Mrs. James working on queer-looking roots.

“When did you get up?” asked she, taken aback.

“Oh, about quarter to five. When did you?” laughed Mrs. James.

“I woke ten minutes later, but I wanted to s’prise you in bed. I went in and found the room empty,” explained Natalie. “What sort of vegetables are those roots?”

“These are dahlia roots, and they will look fine at the fence-line, over there, that divides the field from our driveway. Do you see these dried sticks that come from each root? Those are last year’s plant-stalks. We leave them on during the winter months, so the roots won’t sprout until you plant them. Now I will cut them down quite close to the root before I put them in the ground.”

As she spoke, Mrs. James trimmed down the old stalks to within an inch of the root, then gathered up her apronful of bulbs and roots and stood ready to go down the steps.

“Do you wish to help, Natty? You can bring the spade and digging fork that Rachel placed outside the cellar door for me.”

Natalie ran for the tools and hurried after Mrs. James to the narrow flower bed that ran alongside the picket fence. A ten-inch grass-border separated this flower bed from the side door driveway, making the place for flowers quite secure from wheeltracks or unwary horses’ hoofs.

The dahlia roots were planted so that the tip edge of the old stalks barely showed above the soil. Then the bulbs were planted: lily bulbs, Egyptian iris, Nile Grass, and other plants which will come up every year after once being planted.

“There now! That is done and they are on the road to beautifying our grounds,” sighed Mrs. James, standing up and stretching her arm muscles.

“After all I’ve said, you were the first one to plant, anyway,” complained Natalie.

“Not in the vegetable garden! And flowers are not much account when one has to eat and live,” laughed Mrs. James.

A voice calling from the kitchen door, now diverted attention from the roots and bulbs. “I got dem muffins on de table an’ nice cereal ready to dish up,” announced Rachel.

“And we’re ready for it, too!” declared Natalie.

During the morning meal, Mrs. James and her protégée talked of nothing but gardening, and the prospects of an early crop. To anyone experienced in farming, their confidence in harvesting vegetables within a fortnight would have been highly amusing. But no one was present to reflect as much as a smile on their ardor, so the planning went on.

It was not quite seven when Farmer Ames drove in at the side gate and passed the house. Natalie ran out to greet him and to make sure he had brought the plough in the farm wagon.

“Good-morning, Mr. Ames. How long will it be before you start the ploughing?” called Natalie, as the horse was stopped opposite the side door.

“Good-mornin’, miss. Is Mis’ James to home this mornin’?” asked the be-whiskered farmer, nodding an acknowledgment of Natalie’s greeting.

“Here I am, Mr. Ames. Both of us are ready to help in the gardening in whatever way you suggest,” said Mrs. James, appearing on the porch.

“Thar ain’t much to be helped, yit, but soon’s I git Bob ploughin’, you’se kin go over the sile and pick out any big stones that might turn up. Ef they ain’t taken out they will spile the growin’ of the plants by keepin’ out light and heat.”

Natalie exchanged looks with her companion. Neither one had ever thought of such a possibility.

“What shall I use for them – a rake?” asked Natalie.

“Rake – Nuthin’! all its teeth would crack off ef you tried to drag a big rock with it. Nop – one has to use plain old hands to pick up rocks and carry them to the side of the field.”

“Maybe we’d better wear gloves, Jimmy,” suggested Natalie in a whisper.

“Yes, indeed! I’m glad we brought some rubber gloves with us in case of need in the house. I never dreamed of using them for this,” returned Mrs. James.

She turned and went indoors for the gloves while Farmer Ames drove on to the barns. Natalie followed the wagon, because she felt she could not afford to lose a moment away from this valuable ally in the new plan of work.

“Mr. Ames, as soon as our garden is ploughed, can it be seeded?” asked she, when the farmer began to unhitch the horse.

“That depends. Ef your sile is rich and fertile, then you’se kin plant as soon as it is smoothed out. First the rocks must come out, then the ground is broken up fine, and last you must rake, over and over, until the earth is smooth as a table.”

“What plants ought I to choose first? You see it is so late in the season, I fear my garden will be backward,” said Natalie.

“Nah – don’t worry ’bout that, sis,” remarked the farmer. “Becus we had a cold wet spring and the ground never got warm enough fer seeds until ten days ago. Why, I diden even waste my time and money tryin’ out any seeds till last week. I will gain more in the end because the sun-rays are warm enough this month to show results in my planting. Ef I hed seeded all my vegetables in that cold spell in May they would hev laid dormant and, mebbe, rotted. So you don’t need to worry about its bein’ late this year. Some years that is true – we kin seed in early May, but not this time.”

“I’m so glad for that! Now I can race with other farmers around here and see who gets the best crops,” laughed Natalie.

“What’cha goin’ to plant down?” asked Mr. Ames, curious to hear how this city girl would begin.

“Oh, I was going to leave that to your judgment,” returned she naïvely.

“Ha, ha, ha!” was the farmer’s return to this answer. Then he added: “Wall now, I kin give you some young tomater plants and cabbiges an’ cauliflower slips. Them is allus hard to seed so I plants mine in a hot-bed in winter and raises enough to sell to the countryside fer plantin’ in the spring. I got some few dozen left what you are welcome to, ef you want ’em.”

“Oh, fine! I certainly do want them,” exclaimed Natalie. “Can I go to your house, now, and get them?”

“Better leave ’em planted ’til you wants to put ’em in your garden. They will wilt away ef you leave ’em out of sile fer a day er night. Besides, this stonin’ work will keep you busy to-day.”

Mrs. James now joined them, and handed Natalie a pair of rubber gloves. Farmer Ames stared at them in surprise for he had never seen anyone wear gloves while gardening – at least, not in Greenville.

As he drove Bob and the plough to the garden-space, Natalie and Mrs. James followed, talking eagerly of the plants promised them by the farmer.

“Mr. Ames, you forgot to tell me what seeds to plant first?” Natalie reminded him, as he rolled up his shirt sleeves, preparatory to steering the plough.

“Well, that is a matter of chice. Some likes to seed their radishes fust, an’ some get their lettuce in fust. Now I does it this way: lettuce grows so mighty fast that I figgers I lose time ef I put it down fust and let the other vegetables wait. So I drops in my beets, radishes, beans, peas, and sech like, an’ last of all I gets in the lettuce seed. I gen’ally uses my early plants from the hot-bed fer the fust crop in my truck-garden. I got some little beet plants, and a handful of radish plants what was weeded out of the over-crowded beds, that you may as well use now, and seed down the others you want. My man is going over all the beds to-day, and I will hev him save what you kin use in your garden.”

“Oh, how good you are! I never knew strangers in the country would act like your own family!” exclaimed Natalie. “In the city everyone thinks of getting the most out of you for what they have, that you might need.”

Both the adults laughed at this precocious denunciation of city dealers. Old Bob now began to plod along the edge of the garden-space with his master behind guiding the plough. Natalie walked beside the farmer and watched eagerly as the soil curled over and over when the blade of the plough cut it through and pushed it upwards.

Farmer Ames was feeling quite at home, now that he was working the ground, and he began to converse freely with his young companion.

“Yeh know, don’cha, thet the man what lived here fer ten years, er more, was what we call a gentleman farmer. He went at things after the rules given in some books from the Agricultural Department from Washerton, D. C. He even hed a feller come out from thar and make a test of the sile. The upshot of it all was, he got a pile of stuff from Noo York – powders, fertilizers, and such, an’ doctored the hull farm until we gaped at him.

“But, we all hed to confess that he raised the finest pertaters, and corn, and other truck of anyone fer many a mile around. I allus did say I’d foller his example, but somehow, thar’s so much work waitin’ to be done on a farm, that one never gits time to sit down to writin’. So I postponed it every year.”

“Why, this is awfully interesting, Mr. Ames. I never knew who the tenant was, but he must have had a good sensible education on how to run a farm, or he wouldn’t have known about these fertilizers.”

“Yeh, we-all ust to grin at him for fuddling about on the sile before he’d seed anythin’ – but golly! he got crops like-as-how we never saw raised before.”

“I could try the same methods,” said Natalie musingly.

“He worked over the sile every year, and never planted the same crops in the same places. He called it a sort of rotary process, and he tol’ me my crops would double ef I did it.”

“Did he mix in the doctorings every year, too?” asked Natalie.

“Sure! That’s why he sent little boxes of dirt to Washerton – to find out just what to use in certain qualities of sile.”

“Then I ought to do it, too, hadn’t I?” asked she.

“Not this year, ’cause he said the last year he did it, that now he could skip a year or two. But you’ve gotta mix in good fertilizer before you plant. Then you’se kin laff at all us old fogy farmers what stick to old-fashioned ways.”

Farmer Ames laughed heartily as if to encourage his young student, and to show how she might laugh after harvesting. Natalie gazed at him with a fascinated manner, for his lower lip had such a peculiar way of being sucked in under his upper teeth when he laughed. Not until Mrs. James explained this, by saying that Farmer Ames had no lower teeth, did she lose interest in this mannerism.

“I know all about the tools a farmer has to use in his work, Mr. Ames,” bragged Natalie.

“Oh, do yeh? Wall then, you kin get the rake and hoe, and fix up the sile where the plough is done turned it up.”

Natalie remembered the paragraph in “Scouting for Girls” and asked: “Shall I bring the spade, too?”

Just then, Mr. Ames stubbed his toe against a large stone that had been turned out of its bed. He grumbled forth: “Better git a pickaxe and crowbar.”

“My book didn’t mention crowbars and pickaxes, Mr. Ames, so I don’t know what they are,” ventured Natalie modestly.

“Every farmer has to have a pick and crow on hand in case he wants to dig fence-post holes, er move a rock – like the one I just hit.”

“Oh! But our fences are all made.”

“So are the rocks! But they ain’t moved. Better go over the ploughed dirt and find ’em, then git them outen the garden.”

Natalie began to hunt for stones, and as she found any, to carry them over to the fence where she threw them over in the adjoining field. This was not very exciting pastime, and her back began to ache horribly.

Mrs. James, who had lingered behind, now joined Natalie and exclaimed in surprise, “Why, I thought you said the old tenant was so particular with his garden? He should have removed all these stones, then.”

“This section was used fer pertaters an’ corn every other year, an’ some stones is good to drain the sile fer them sort of greens. But fer small truck like you’se plan to plant here, the stones has to get out.”

Mrs. James assisted Natalie in throwing out stones which turned up under the plough-blade, and when that section of the garden was finished, Mr. Ames mopped his warm brow and looked back over his work with satisfaction.

“Ef you’se want to plant corn over in that unused spot alongside the field, it will be a fine place to use. It is not been used fer years fer truck.”

“It looks awfully weedy. Maybe things won’t grow there,” ventured Natalie.

“Hoh, them’s only top-weeds what can be yanked out. The sile itself is good as any hereabouts.”

“Well, then, Mr. Ames,” said Mrs. James, “you’d better plough that section, too, for the corn or potatoes.”

So the rough part of the ground by the fence-line was ploughed up, but the quantity of stones found in the soil was appalling to Natalie. Mr. Ames chuckled at her expression.

“Don’t worry about seein’ so many, ’cuz you only has to pick out one stone at a time, you know. Ef you does this one at a time, widdout thinkin’ of how many there seem to be afore your eyes, you soon git them all out an’ away.”

“I see Mr. Ames is a good moralizer,” smiled Mrs. James.

He nodded his head, and then suggested that he visit the barnyard to see if any old compost was left about by the former tenant. If so, it would be a good time to dig it under in the ploughed soil.

“Oh, I want to go with Mr. Ames, Jimmy, to see just what compost he considers good,” exclaimed Natalie, dancing away.

Mrs. James watched her go and smiled. The tonic of being in the country and working on the farm was beginning to tell already. Before she resumed her task of picking up stones, however, the clarion voice of Rachel came from the kitchen porch.

“Hey, Mis’ James! I’se got lunch all ready to eat!”

As the lady was well-nigh starved because of the early breakfast and the work in the earth, she sighed in relief. Now she would have a spell in which to rest and gain courage to go on with the stoning. This showed that it was not interesting to Mrs. James, but she was determined to carry it through.

Natalie ran indoors soon after Mrs. James and went to the dining-room where the luncheon was served. She was so eager to tell what Farmer Ames told her that she hardly saw that Rachel had prepared her favorite dessert – berry tarts.

“Jimmy, Mr. Ames knows more about farming and soil than books! He says a mixed compost from the stables and barnyard makes the best of all fertilizers.”

“His logic sounds plausible, Natty, but we haven’t any such compost to use, and perhaps never will have if we wish to use it from our own barns,” said Mrs. James regretfully.

“But Mr. Ames said he could sell us some of that grade compost, if we needed any. He says he does not believe our soil needs fertilizing this year, as it is so rich already.”

“That is splendid news, as it will save us much time in seeding, too,” returned Mrs. James.

“I wanted to show him that I knew something about composts, so I told him about what I read in the book for Scouts last night: – that one could use a commercial fertilizer if one had no barnyard manure available. He looked at me amazed, and I explained that many farmers used four-parts bone-dust to one part muriate of potash and mixed it well. This would fertilize a square rod of land. I felt awfully proud of myself as I spoke, but he soon made me feel humble again, by saying, ‘Do you spread it out on top of the ground after the seed is in, Miss Natalie, or do you put it under the sile to het up the roots?’”

Mrs. James laughed and asked, “What could you say?”

“That’s just it – I didn’t know, Jimmy; so I made a guess at it. I replied: ‘Why, I mix it very carefully all through the soil’ – and Jimmy! I struck it right first time!” laughed she.

Mr. Ames had finished his dinner (so he called it) long before Natalie and her chaperone, and when they started to leave the house they found that he was hard at work removing the rest of the stones from the ploughed ground.

“Oh, I’m so glad of that, Jimmy!” cried Natalie, as she watched the farmer at work.

“Well, to tell the truth, Natalie, I’m not sorry to find that job taken from us,” laughed Mrs. James. “I found it most tiresome and with no encouragement from the stones.”

“Let’s do something else, Jimmy, and let Mr. Ames finish the stone-work,” suggested Natalie, quickly. Just then Rachel came out on the back steps of the kitchen porch.

“Mis’ James, Farmeh Ames say foh you-all to drive ole Bob back to his house en’ fetch a load of compos’ what he says is back of his barns. His man knows about it. Den you kin brung along dem leetle plants what is weeded out of his garden and keep ’em down cellar fer to-night.”

Natalie felt elated at this novel suggestion of work, thereby freeing them both from the irksome task of stoning the garden. And Mrs. James laughed as she pictured herself driving the farm-wagon on the county road where an endless stream of automobiles constantly passed.

But she was courageous, and soon the two were gayly chattering, as Bob stumbled and stamped along the macadam road. Above the clatter of loose wheels and rattling boards in the floor of the old wagon, the merry laughter of Natalie could be heard by the autoists, as they passed the “turn-out” from Green Hill Farm.

Having reached the Ames’s farm and found the handy-man who would load up the barnyard compost in the wagon for them, Natalie asked him many questions that had been interesting her.

CHAPTER VII – NATALIE LEARNS SEVERAL SECRETS

Natalie made good use of her eyes while Farmer Ames’s man gave her the vegetable slips, and when she got back home the first question she asked Mr. Ames was: “Why can’t I buy a few of your asparagus slips? I love asparagus and you have a fine bed of it.”

“I’d give yer some slips, and welcome, but it don’t grow that way,” replied he. “First you’ve got to hev jest the right quality of sand and loam mixed in kerrect proportions, and then yer seed it down. The fust season of asparagrass it ain’t no good fer cuttin’; the secunt year it turns out a few baby stalks, but the third year it comes along with a fine crop – ef you’ve taken good care of it through the winter cold, and shaded the young plants from summer’s sun-heat the fust two years.”

“Oh, I never dreamed there was so much trouble to just raising asparagus!” exclaimed Natalie. “How long does it take in the spring, Mr. Ames, before the plant produces the ripe vegetable?”

Mr. Ames turned and stared at Natalie to see if she was joking, but finding she was really in earnest, he laughingly replied: “Asparagrass doesn’t ripen like termaters er beans, – when the young stalk shoots up from the sile, yer cut it off. It is the tip that is best, fer that holds the heart of the plant. Ef you let it keep on growin’ it will shoot up into a high plant with the seed in its cup. But we cut it before it grows up.”

“Oh dear! Then I can’t raise it for three years, can I?” said she complainingly.

“It don’t look that way,” remarked the farmer.

Mrs. James and Natalie had returned with the farm-wagon loaded with compost late in the afternoon, and Farmer Ames stopped work soon after their return to Green Hill Farm.

“I’ve gotta look after my own stock and truck now, but I’ll be back to-morrer mornin’ an’ help spread out the fertilizer so’s the ground will be ready in another day er two.”

“I don’t know what we would have done without you, Mr. Ames,” said Natalie, standing on the carriage step near the side drive.

“Well, es long es you diden have to do without me, what’s the use tryin’ to figger out what you would have done,” laughed he, as he gathered up the reins.

“That’s splendid logic, Mr. Ames,” laughed Mrs. James, pleased at his reply.

“I allus says we waste more time crossin’ bridges what never was excep’ in our imagination, than it would take to go miles round-about ’em.”

After this last original proverb, he started the horse along his way.

Directly after the evening meal, Mrs. James took her Scout manual and sat down on the piazza to study the chapter on gardening. Natalie saw what she was doing and ran in to get her book, also.

“Jimmy, it doesn’t say one ought to have a trowel and pick for garden work. Mr. Ames said we should always have them on hand in case of need. I can see how much easier it would have been to clear the ground of the stones had we had the pick instead of having had to use the digging-fork,” said Natalie.

“I think so, too. And the hand-trowel will be very useful when we transplant the small plants. I don’t see how one can get along well without it, or without a short hand-rake. But I wanted to read what it says about making the garden beds. That is why I began reading it to-night.”

“It says the bed should be three feet wide by twelve long,” read Natalie.

“Yes, I see; but I have found three feet of soil to be uncomfortably wide to reach over when you wish to weed or dig about the plants. If the vegetables are bush-beans it is almost impossible to work in the middle of the bed without rubbing against the outside plants and breaking off branches. I should certainly plan to have my gardens but two feet wide, with a foot-path fifteen inches wide between every bed.

“Of course, where land is limited and costly, one cannot afford a wide foot-path; but we can, and it will make the weeding much easier. A ten or twelve-inch foot-path is almost too narrow to move about on without damaging the plants along its edge.”

“Is our garden composed of clay, Jimmy, like it says in the next paragraph?” asked Natalie anxiously.

“Oh, no! Let me read what it says: ‘The bed should be dug out to a depth of two feet, and if the soil is clay, six inches deeper than two feet. In the latter case you will have to fill in the bottom with broken stones, or cinders, or gravel, for good drainage. The best soil is a mixture of one-half sandy loam, one-fourth leaf-mould, or muck that has been exposed all winter (to rot for this purpose), and then mix this thoroughly before filling it in the beds. Sprinkle wood-ashes over the beds next, and rake them well in the ground before you plant anything. This is to sweeten the soil. Lime may be used for the same purpose; but in either case, get advice as to the amount needed for the soil in question.’

“That is plain enough. The soil on different farms differs as much as the people do, so that a careful analysis is needed to produce good crops,” explained Mrs. James.

“I suppose there are soils that need next to no potash, and other soil that needs no ashes, or other chemical treatments,” ventured Natalie.

“Exactly! So you see, if one added an extra chemical where enough of such was already in evidence, it would injure the tender plant as it sprouted,” added Mrs. James.

“Jimmy, Mr. Ames told me to-day that good old leaf-mould was the finest of all composts. But where can we get any, now?” asked Natalie.

“I have no doubt we can find enough down on the river banks to cover your garden beds this year. Then in the fall we can rake up the leaves and allow them to rot through the winter for next season,” said Mrs. James.