If the question were asked, "Is there anything that comes from the garden better liked than a dish of strawberries?" in nine instances out of ten the answer would be, "Nothing," even though sour Wilsons were grown; and yet, too often the bed is in a neglected corner and half shaded by trees, while strong-growing vegetables occupy the moist, open spaces. It is hardly rational to put the favorite of the garden where, at best, a partial failure is certain. Let it be well understood that strawberries cannot be made to do well on ground exhausted by the roots and covered by the shade of trees.

On many farms and even in some gardens there are several varieties of soil. Within the area of an acre I have a sandy loam, a gravelly hillside, low, black, alluvial land, and a very stiff, cold, wet clay. Such diversity does not often occur within so limited a space, but on multitudes of places corresponding differences exist. In such instances, conditions suited to every variety can be found, and reading and experience will teach the cultivator to locate his several kinds just where they will give the best results. Moreover, by placing early kinds on warm, sunny slopes, and giving late varieties moist, heavy land, and cool, northern exposures, the season of this delicious fruit can be prolonged greatly. The advantage of a long-continued supply for the family is obvious, but it is often even more important to those whose income is dependent on this industry. It frequently occurs that the market is "glutted" with berries for a brief time in the height of the season. If the crop matures in the main at such a time, the one chance of the year passes, leaving but a small margin of profit; whereas, if the grower had prolonged his season, by a careful selection of soils as well as of varieties, he might sell a large portion of his fruit when it was scarce and high.

Climate is also a very important consideration, and enters largely into the problem of success from Maine to Southern California. Each region has its advantages and disadvantages, and these should be estimated before the purchaser takes the final steps which commit him to a locality and methods of culture which may not prove to his taste. In the far North, sheltered situations and light, warm land should be chosen for the main crop; but in our latitude, and southward, it should always be our aim to avoid that hardness and dryness of soil that cut short the crops and hopes of so many cultivators.



CHAPTER VII

PREPARING AND ENRICHING THE SOIL

Having from choice or necessity decided on the ground on which our future strawberries are to grow, the next step is to prepare the soil. The first and most natural question will be: What is the chief need of this plant? Many prepare their ground in a vague, indefinite way. Let us prepare for strawberries.

Whether it grows North or South, East or West, the strawberry plant is the same, and has certain constitutional traits and requirements, which should be thoroughly fixed in our minds. Modifications of treatment made necessary by various soils and climates are then not only easily learned but also easily understood.

When asked, on one occasion, what was the chief requirement in successful strawberry culture, Hon. Marshall P. Wilder replied substantially in the following piquant manner:—

"In the first place, the strawberry's chief need is a great deal of water.

"In the second place, it needs more water.

"In the third place, I think I would give it a great deal more water."

The more extended and full my experience becomes, the less exaggeration I find in his words. The following strong confirmation of President Wilder's opinion may be found in Thompson's "Gardener's Assistant," a standard English work:—

"Ground that is apt to get very dry from the effects of only ten days' or a fortnight's drought is not suitable, on account of the enormous quantity of water that will be necessary; and if once the plants begin to flag for want of moisture, the crop is all but lost. A soil that is naturally somewhat moist, but not too wet, answers well; and where the land has admitted of irrigation, we have seen heavy crops produced every year."

If this be true in England, with its humid climate, how much more emphatically should we state the importance of this requirement in our land of long droughts and scorching suns.

Moisture, then, is the strawberry's first and chief need. Without it, the best fertilizers become injurious rather than helpful. Therefore, in the preparation of the soil and its subsequent cultivation, there should be a constant effort to secure and maintain moisture, and the failure to do this is the chief cause of meagre crops. And yet, very probably, the first step absolutely necessary to accomplish this will be a thorough system of underdrainage. I have spent hundreds of dollars in such labors, and it was as truly my object to enable the ground to endure drought as to escape undue wetness. Let it be understood that it is moist and not wet land that the strawberry requires. If water stands or stagnates upon or a little below the surface, the soil becomes sour, heavy, lifeless; and if clay is present, it will bake like pottery in dry weather, and suggest the Slough of Despond in wet. Disappointment, failure, and miasma are the certain products of such unregenerate regions, but, as is often the case with repressed and troublesome people, the evil traits of such soil result from a lack of balance, and a perversion of what is good.

The underdrain restores the proper equilibrium; the brush-hook and axe cut away the rank unwholesome growth which thrives best in abnormal conditions. Sun, air, and purifying frosts mellow and sweeten the damp, heavy malarious ground, as the plowshare lifts it out of its low estate. A swamp, or any approach to one, is like a New York tenement- house district, and requires analogous treatment.

If, however, we have mellow upland with natural drainage, let us first put that in order that we may have a remunerative crop as soon as possible. In suggesting, therefore, the best methods of preparing and enriching the ground, I will begin by considering soils that are already in the most favorable conditions, and that require the least labor and outlay. Man received his most essential agricultural instruction in the opening chapter of Genesis, wherein he is commanded to "subdue the earth." Even the mellow western prairie is at first a wild, untamed thing, that must be subdued. This is often a simple process, and in our gardens and the greater part of many farms has already been practically accomplished. Where the deep, moist loam, just described, exists, the fortunate owner has only to turn it up to the sun and give it a year of ordinary cultivation, taking from it, in the process, some profitable hoed crop that will effectually kill the grass, and his land is ready for strawberries. If his ground is in condition to give a good crop of corn, it will also give a fair crop of berries. If the garden is so far "subdued" as to yield kitchen vegetables, the strawberry may be planted at once, with the prospect of excellent returns, unless proper culture is neglected.

Should the reader be content with mediocrity, there is scarcely anything to be said where the conditions are so favorable. But suppose one is not content with mediocrity. Then this highly favored soil is but the vantage-ground from which skill enters on a course of thorough preparation and high culture. A man may plow, harrow, and set with strawberries the land that was planted the previous year in corn, and probably secure a remunerative return, with little more trouble or cost than was expended on the corn. Or, he may select half the area that was in corn, plow it deeply in October, and if he detects traces of the white grub, cross-plow it again just as the ground is beginning to freeze. Early in the spring he can cover the surface with some fertilizer—there is nothing better than a rotted compost of muck and barn-yard manure—at the proportion of forty or fifty tons to the acre. Plow and cross-plow again, and in each instance let the first team be followed by a subsoil or lifting plow, which stirs and loosens the substratum without bringing it to the surface. The half of the field prepared in such a thorough manner will probably yield three times the amount of fruit that could be gathered from the whole area under ordinary treatment; and if the right varieties are grown, and a good market is within reach, the money received will be in a higher ratio.

The principle of generous and thorough preparation may be carried still further in the garden, and its soil, already rich and mellow, may be covered to the depth of several inches with well-rotted compost or any form of barn-yard manure that is not too coarse and full of heat, and this may be incorporated with the earth by trenching to the depth of two feet. Of this be certain, the strawberry roots will go as deeply as the soil is prepared and enriched for them, and the result in abundant and enormous fruit will be commensurate. English gardeners advise trenching even to the depth of three feet, where the ground permits it.

Few soils can be found so deep and rich by nature that they cannot be improved by art; and the question for each to decide is, how far the returns will compensate for extra preparation. Very often land for strawberries receives but little more preparation than for wheat, and such methods must pay or they would not be continued. Many who follow these methods declare that they are the most profitable in the long run. I doubt it.

If our market is one in which strawberries are sold simply as such, without much regard to flavor or size, there is not the same inducement to produce fine fruit. But even when quantity is the chief object, deeply prepared and enriched land retains that essential moisture of which we have spoken, and enables the plant not only to form, but also to develop and mature, a great deal of fruit. In the majority of markets, however, each year, size and beauty count for more, and these qualities can be secured, even from a favorable soil, only after thorough preparation and enriching. I find that every writer of experience on this subject, both American and European, insists vigorously on the value of such careful pulverization and deepening of the soil.

Having thus considered the most favorable land in the best condition possible, under ordinary cultivation, I shall now treat of that less suitable, until we finally reach a soil too sterile and hopelessly bad to repay cultivation.

I will speak first of this same deep, moist loam, in its unsubdued condition; that is, in stiff sod, trees, or brush-wood. Of course, the latter must be removed, and, as a rule, the crops on new land—which has been undisturbed by the plow for a number of years and, perhaps, never robbed of its original fertility—will amply repay for the extra labor of clearing. Especially will this be the case if the brush and rubbish are burned evenly over the surface. The finest of wild strawberries are found where trees have been felled and the brush burned; and the successful fruit grower is the one who makes the best use of such hints from nature.

The field would look better and the cultivation be easier if all the stumps could be removed before planting, but this might involve too great preliminary expense, and I always counsel against debt except in the direst necessity. A little brush burned on each stump will effectually check new growth, and, in two or three years, these unsightly objects will be so rotten that they can be pried out, and easily turned into ashes, one of the best of fertilizers. In the meantime, the native strength of the land will cause a growth which will compensate for the partial lack of deep and thorough cultivation which the stumps and roots prevent. Those who have travelled West and South have seen fine crops of corn growing among the half-burned stumps, and strawberries will do as well.

But where trees or brush have grown very thickly, the roots and stumps must be eradicated. The thick growth on the sandy land of Florida is grubbed out at the cost of about $30 per acre, and I know of a gentleman who pays at the rate of $25 per acre in the vicinity of Norfolk, Va. I doubt whether it can be done for less elsewhere.

In some regions they employ a stump extractor, a rude but strong machine, worked by blocks and pulleys, with oxen as motor power. From the "Farmer's Advocate" of London, Ont., I learn that an expert with one of these machines, aided by five men and two yoke of oxen, was in the habit of clearing fifty acres annually.

I have cleaned hedge-rows and stony spots on my place in the following thorough manner: A man commences with pick and shovel on one side of the land and turns it steadily and completely over by hand to the depth of fourteen to eighteen inches, throwing on the surface behind him all the roots, stumps and stones, and stopping occasionally to blast when the rocks are too large to be pried out. This, of course, is expensive, and cannot be largely indulged in; but, when accomplished, the work is done for all time, and I have obtained at once by this method some splendid soil, in which the plow sinks to the beam. A drought must be severe, indeed, that can injure such land.

There is a great difference in men in the performance of this work. I have one who, within a reasonable time, would trench a farm. Indeed, in his power to obey the primal command to "subdue the earth," my man, Abraham, is a hero—although, I imagine, he scarcely knows what the word means and would as soon think of himself as a hippopotamus. His fortunes would often seem as dark as himself to those who "take thought for the morrow;" and that is saying much, for Abraham is "colored" as far as man can be.

I doubt whether his foresight often reaches further than bedtime, and to that hour he comes with an honest right to rest. He is a family man, and has six or seven children, under eight years of age, whom he shelters in a wretched little house that appears tired of standing up. But to and from this abode Abraham passes daily, with a face as serene as a May morning. In that weary old hovel I am satisfied that he and his swarming little brood have found what no architect can build—a home. Thither he carries his diurnal dollar, when he can get it, and on it they all manage to live and grow fat. He loses time occasionally, it is true, through illness, but no such trifling misfortune can induce him, seemingly, to take a long, anxious look into the future. Only once—it was last winter—have I seen him dismayed by the frowning fates. The doctor thought his wife would die, and they had nothing to eat in the house. When Abraham appeared before me at that time, "his countenance was fallen," as the quaint, strong language of Scripture expresses it. He made no complaints, however, and indulged in no Byronic allusions to destiny. Indeed, he said very little, but merely drooped and cowered, as if the wolf at the door and the shadow of death within it were rather more than he could face at one and the same time. It soon became evident, however, that his wife would "pull through," as he said, and then the wolf didn't trouble him a mite. He installed himself as cook, nurse, and house man-of-all- work, finding also abundant leisure to smoke his pipe with infinite content. One morning he was seen baking buckwheat cakes for the children; each one in turn received an allowance on a tin plate, and squatted here and there on the floor to devour it; and, from the master of ceremonies down, there was not an indication that all was not just as it should be. A few days later I met him coming back to his work with his pipe in the corner of his mouth, and the old confident twinkle in his eye as he said, "Mornin', Bossie." Now, Abraham carries his peculiar characteristics into grubbing. If I should set him at a hundred-acre field full of stumps and stones, and tell him to clear it to the depth of two feet, he would begin without any apparent misgiving, and with no more thought for the magnitude of his task than he has for the tangled and stubborn mysteries of life in general, or the dubious question of "what shall be on the morrow" in his own experience. He would see only the little strip that he proposed to clear up that day, and would go to work in a way all his own.

Although not talkative to other people, he is very social with himself, and, in the early days of our acquaintance, I was constantly misled into the belief that somebody was with him, and that he was a man of words rather than work. As soon, however, as I reached a point from which I could see him, there he would be, alone, bending to his task with the steady persistence that makes his labor so effective; but, at the same time, until he saw me he would continue discussing with equal vigor whatever subject might be uppermost in his mind. I suppose he scarcely ever takes out a stone or root without apostrophizing, adjuring, and berating it in tones and vernacular so queer that one might imagine he hoped to remove the refractory object by magic rather than by muscle. When the sun is setting, however, and Abraham has complacently advised himself, "Better quit, for de day's done gone, and de ole woman is arter me, afeared I've kivered myself up a-grubbin'," one thing is always evident—a great many stones and roots are "unkivered," and Abraham has earned anew his right to the title of champion grubber.

But, as most men handle the pick and shovel, the fruit grower must be chary in his attempts to subdue the earth with those old-time implements. It is too much like making war with the ancient Roman short sword in an age of rifled guns. I agree with that practical horticulturist, Peter Henderson, that there are no implements equal to the plow and subsoiler, and, in our broad and half-occupied country, we should be rather shy of land where these cannot be used.

The cultivator whose deep moist loam is covered by sod only, instead of rocks, brush, and trees, may feel like congratulating himself on the easy task before him; and, indeed, where the sod is light, strawberries, and especially the larger small fruits, are often planted on it at once with fair success. I do not recommend the practice; for, unless the subsequent culture is very thorough and frequent, the grass roots will continue to grow and may become so intertwined with those of the strawberry that they cannot be separated. Corn is probably the best hoed crop to precede the strawberry. Potatoes too closely resemble this fruit in their demand for potash, and exhaust the soil of one of the most needed elements. A dressing of wood ashes, however, will make good the loss. Buckwheat is one of the most effective means of subduing and cleaning land, and two crops can be plowed under in a single summer. Last spring I had some very stiff marsh sod turned over and sown with buckwheat, which, in our hurry, was not plowed under until considerable of the seed ripened and fell. A second crop from this came up at once, and was plowed under when coming into blossom, as the first should have been. The straw, in its succulent state, decayed in a few days, and by autumn my rough marsh sod was light, rich, and mellow as a garden, ready for anything.

If it should happen that the land designed for strawberries was in clover, it would make an admirable fertilizer if turned under while still green, and I think its use for this purpose would pay better than cutting it for hay, even though there is no better. Indeed, were I about to put any sod land, that was not very stiff and unsubdued, into small fruits, I would wait till whatever herbage covered the ground was just coming into flower, and then turn it under. The earlier growth that precedes the formation of seed does not tax the soil much, but draws its substance largely from the atmosphere, and when returned to the earth while full of juices, is valuable. In our latitude this can usually be done by the middle of June, and if on this sod buckwheat is sown at once, it will hasten the decay, loosen and lighten the soil in its growth, and in a few weeks be ready itself to increase the fertility of the field by being plowed under. In regions where farmyard manure and other fertilizers are scarce and high, this plowing under of green crops is one of the most effective ways both of enriching and preparing the land; and if the reader has no severer labors to perform than this, he may well congratulate himself.

But let him not be premature in his self-felicitation, for he may find in his sod ground, especially if it be old meadow land, an obstacle worse than stumps and stones—the Lachnosterna fusca.

This portentous name may well inspire dread, for the thing itself can realize one's worst fears. The deep, moist loam which we are considering is the favorite haunt of this hateful little monster, and he who does not find it lying in wait when turning up land that has been long in sod, may deem himself lucky. The reader need not draw a sigh of relief when I tell him that I mean merely the "white grub," the larva of the May-beetle or June-bug, that so disturbs our slumbers in early summer by its sonorous hum and aimless bumping against the wall. This white grub, which the farmers often call the "potato worm," is, in this region, the strawberry's most formidable foe, and, by devouring the roots, will often destroy acres of plants. If the plow turns up these ugly customers in large numbers, the only recourse is to cultivate the land with some other crop until they turn into beetles and fly away. This enemy will receive fuller attention in a later chapter.

It is said that this pest rarely lays its eggs in plowed land, preferring sod ground, where its larvae will be protected from the birds, and will find plenty of grass roots on which to feed. Nature sees to it that white grubs are taken care of, but our Monarch strawberries need our best skill and help in their unequal fight; and if "Lachnos" and tribe should turn out in force, Alexander himself would be vanquished.



CHAPTER VIII.

PREPARATION OF SOIL BY DRAINAGE

Excessive moisture will often prevent the immediate cultivation of our ideal strawberry land. Its absence is fatal, its excess equally so. Let me suggest some of the evil effects. Every one is aware that climate—that is the average temperature of the atmosphere throughout the year—has a most important influence on vegetation. But a great many, I imagine, do not realize that there is an underground climate also, and that it is scarcely less important that this should be adapted to the roots than that the air should be tempered to the foliage. Water-logged land is cold. The sun can bake, but not warm it to any extent. Careful English experiments have proved that well- drained land is from 10 to 20 degrees warmer than wet soils; and Mr. Parkes has shown, in his "Essay on the Philosophy of Drainage," that in "draining the 'Red Moss' the thermometer in the drained land rose in June to 66 degrees at seven inches below the surface, while in the neighboring water-logged land it would never rise above 47 degrees—an enormous gain."

In his prize essay on drainage, Dr. Madden confirms the above, and explains further, as follows: "An excess of water injures the soil by diminishing its temperature in summer and increasing it in winter—a transformation of nature most hurtful to perennials, because the vigor of a plant in spring depends greatly on the lowness of temperature to which it has been subjected during the winter (within certain limits, of course), as the difference of temperature between winter and spring is the exciting cause of the ascent of the sap." In other words, too much water in the soil may cause no marked difference between the underground climate of winter and spring.

Dr. Madden shows, moreover, that excess of water keeps out the air essential not only in promoting chemical changes in the soil itself and required by the plants, but also the air which is directly needed by the roots. Sir H. Davy and others have proved that oxygen and carbonic acid are absorbed by the roots as well as by the foliage, and these gases can be brought to them by the air only.

Again, drainage alters the currents which occur in wet soil. In undrained land, evaporation is constantly bringing up to the roots the sour, exhausted water of the subsoil, which is an injury rather than a benefit. On the other hand, the rain just fallen passes freely through a drained soil, carrying directly to the roots fresh air and stimulating gases.

Wet land also produces conditions which disable the foliage of plants from absorbing carbonic acid, thus greatly decreasing its atmospheric supply of food. Other reasons might be given, but the reader who is not satisfied had better set out an acre of strawberries on water- logged land. His empty pocket will out-argue all the books.

The construction of drains may be essential, for three causes: 1st. Land that is dry enough naturally may lie so as to collect and hold surface water, which, accumulating with every rain and snow storm, at last renders the soil sour and unproductive. 2nd. Comparatively level land, and even steep hillsides, may be so full of springs as to render drains at short intervals necessary. 3rd. Streams, flowing perhaps from distant sources, may find their natural channel across our grounds. If these channels are obstructed or inadequate, we find our land falling into the ways of an old soaker.

It should here be stated, however, that if we could cause streams to overflow our land in a shallow, sluggish current, so that a sediment would be left on the surface after a speedy subsidence, the result would be in miniature like the overflow of the Nile in Egypt, most beneficial, that is, if means for thorough subsequent drainage was provided.

If there is an abundance of stone on one's place suitable for the construction of drains, it can often be used to advantage, as I shall show; but for all ordinary purposes of drainage, round tile with collars are now recommended by the best authorities. It is said that they are cheaper than stone, even where the latter is right at hand; and the claim is reasonable, since, instead of the wide ditch required by stone, a narrow cut will suffice for tile; thus a great saving is at once effected in the cost of digging. Tile also can be laid rapidly, and are not liable to become obstructed if properly protected at points of discharge by gratings, so that vermin cannot enter. They should not be laid near willow, elm, and other trees of like character, or else the fibrous roots will penetrate and fill the channel. If one has a large problem of drainage to solve, he should carefully read a work like Geo. E. Waring's "Drainage for Profit and for Health;" and if the slope or fall of some fields is very slight, say scarcely one foot in a hundred, the services of an engineer should be employed and accurate grades obtained. By a well-planned system, the cost of draining a place can be greatly reduced, and the water made very useful.

On my place at Cornwall I found three acres of wet land, each in turn illustrating one of the causes which make drainage necessary. I used stone, because, in some instances, no other material would have answered, in others partly because I was a novice in the science of drainage, and partly because I had the stones on my place, and did not know what else to do with them. I certainly could not cart them on my neighbors' ground without having a surplus of hot as well as cold water, so I concluded to bury them in the old-fashioned box-drains. Indeed, I found rather peculiar and difficult problems of drainage, and the history of their solution may contain useful hints to the reader.

In front of my house there is a low, level plot of land, containing about three acres. Upon this the surface water ran from all sides, and there was no outlet. The soil was, in consequence, sour, and in certain spots only a wiry marsh grass would grow. And yet it required, but a glance to see that a drain, which could carry off this surface water immediately, would render it the best land on the place. I tried, in vain, the experiment of digging a deep, wide ditch across the entire tract, in hopes of finding a porous subsoil. Then I excavated great, deep holes, but came to a blue clay that held water like rubber. The porous subsoil, in which I knew the region abounded, and which makes Cornwall exceptionally free from all miasmatic troubles, eluded our spades like hidden treasures. I eventually found that I must obtain permission of a neighbor to carry a drain across another farm to the mountain stream that empties into the Hudson at Cornwall Landing. The covered drain through the adjoining place was deep and expensive, but the ditch across my land (marked A on the map) is a small one, walled with stone on either side. It answers my purpose, however, giving me as good strawberry land as I could wish. On both sides of this open ditch, and at right angles with it, I had the ground plowed into beds 130 feet long by 21 wide. The shallow depressions between these beds slope gently toward the ditch, and thus, after every storm, the surface water, which formerly often, covered the entire area, is at once carried away. I think my simple, shallow, open drain is better than tile in this instance.



As may be seen from the map, my farm is peculiar in outline, and resembles an extended city lot, being 2,550 feet long, and only 410 wide.

The house, as shown by the engraving, stands on quite an elevation, in the rear of which the land descends into another swale or basin. The drainage of this presented a still more difficult problem. Not only did the surface water run into it, but in moist seasons the ground was full of springs. The serious feature of the case was that there seemed to be no available outlet in any direction. Unlike the mellow, sandy loam in front of the house, the swale in the rear was of the stiffest kind of clay—just the soil to retain and be spoiled by water. During the first year of our residence here this region was sometimes a pond, sometimes a quagmire, while again, under the summer sun, it baked into earthenware. It was a doubtful question whether this stubborn acre could be subdued, and yet its heavy clay gave me just the diversity of soil I needed. Throughout the high gravelly knoll on which the house stands, the natural drainage is perfect, and a sagacious neighbor suggested that if I cut a ditch across the clayey swale into the gravel of the knoll, the water would find a natural outlet and disappear.

The ditch was dug eight feet wide and five feet deep, for I decided to utilize the surface of the drain as a road-bed. Passing out of the clay and hard-pan, we came into the gravel, and it seemed porous enough to carry off a fair-sized stream. I concluded that my difficult problem had found a cheap and easy solution, and to make assurance doubly sure, I directed the men to dig a deep pit and fill it with stones. When they had gone about nine feet below the surface, I happened to be standing on the brink of the excavation, watching the work. A laborer struck his pick into the gravel, when a stream gushed out which in its sudden abundance suggested that which flowed in the wilderness at the stroke of Moss's rod. The problem was now complicated anew. So far from finding an outlet, I had dug a well which the men could scarcely bail out fast enough to permit of its being stoned up.

My neighbors remarked that my wide ditch reminded them of the Erie canal, and my wife was in terror lest the children should be drowned in it. Now something had to be done, and I called in the services of Mr. Caldwell, city surveyor of Newburgh, and to his map I refer the reader for a clearer understanding of my tasks.

Between the upper and lower swales, the ridge on which the house stands slopes to its greatest depression along its western boundary, and I was shown that if I would cut deep enough, the open drain in the lower swale could receive and carry off the water from the upper basin. This appeared Tobe the only resource, but with my limited means it was like a ship-canal across the Isthmus of Panama. The old device of emptying my drains into a hole that practically had no bottom, suggested itself to me. It would be so much easier and cheaper that I resolved once more to try it, though with hopes naturally dampened by my last moist experience. I directed that the hole (marked B on the map) should be oblong, and in the direct line of the ditch, so that if it failed of its purpose it could become a part of the drain. Down we went into as perfect sand and gravel as I ever saw, and the deeper we dug the dryer it became. This time, in wounding old "Mother Earth," we did not cut a vein, and there seemed a fair prospect of our creating a new one, for into this receptacle I decided to turn my largest drain and all the water that the stubborn acre persisted in keeping.

I therefore had a "box-drain" constructed along the western boundary of the place (marked C) until it reached the lowest spot in the upper swale. This drain was simply and rapidly constructed, in the following manner: a ditch was first dug sufficiently deep and wide, and with, a fall that carried off the water rapidly. In the bottom of this ditch the men built two roughly faced walls, one foot high and eight inches apart. Comparatively long, flat stones, that would reach from wall to wall, were easily found, and thus we had a covered water-course, eight by twelve inches, forming the common box-drain that will usually last a lifetime.

The openings over the channel were carefully "chinked" in with small stones and all covered with inverted sods, shavings, leaves, or anything that prevented the loose soil from sifting or washing down into the water-course.

At the upper end of the box-drain just described, a second and smaller receptacle was dug (marked D), and from this was constructed another box-drain (E), six inches square, across the low ground to the end of the canal in which we had found the well (F). This would not only drain a portion of the land but would also empty the big ditch (G), and prevent the water of the well from rising above a certain point. This kind of stone-work can be done rapidly; two men in two short winter days built thirteen rods with a water-course six inches in the clear.

To the upper and further end of the canal (G), I constructed another and cheaper style of drain. In the bottom of this ditch (H), two stones were placed on their ends or edges and leaned together so as to form a kind of arch, and then other stones were thrown over and around them until they reached a point eighteen inches from the surface. Over these stones, as over the box-drains also, was placed a covering of any coarse litter to keep the earth from washing down; and then the construction of one or two short side-drains, the refilling the ditches and levelling the ground completed my task.

It will be remembered that this entire system of drainage ended in the excavation (B) already described. The question was now whether such a theory of drainage would "hold water." If it would, the hole I had dug must not, and I waited to see. It promised well. Quite a steady stream poured into it and disappeared. By and by there came a heavy March storm. When I went out in the morning, everything was afloat. The big canal and the well at its lower end were full to overflowing. The stubborn acre was a quagmire, and alas! the excavation which I had hoped would save so much trouble and expense was also full. I plodded back under my umbrella with a brow as lowering as the sky. There seemed nothing for it but to cut a "Dutch gap" that would make a like chasm in my bank account. By noon it cleared off, and I went down to take a melancholy survey of the huge amount of work that now seemed necessary, when, to my great joy, the oblong cut, in which so many hopes had seemingly been swamped, was entirely empty. From the box- drain a large stream poured into it and went down—to China, for all that I knew. I went in haste to the big canal and found it empty, and the well lowered to the mouth of the drain. The stubborn acre was now under my thumb, and I have kept it there ever since. During the past summer, I had upon its wettest and stiffest portion two beds of Jucunda strawberries that yielded at the rate of one hundred and ninety bushels to the acre. The Jucunda strawberry is especially adapted to heavy land requiring drainage, and I think an enterprising man in the vicinity of New York might so unite them as to make a fortune. The hole was filled with stones and now forms a part of my garden, and the canal answers for a road-bed as at first intended. In the fortuitous well I have placed a force-pump, around which are grown and watered my potted plants. The theory of carrying drains into gravel does hold water, and sometimes holes can be dug at a slight expense, that practically have no bottom. I have no doubt that in this instance tile would have been better and cheaper than the small stone drains that I have described.

In the rear of my place there was a third drainage problem very different from either of the other two. My farm runs back to the rise of the mountain, whose edge it skirts for some distance. It thus receives at times much surface water. At the foot of the mountain- slope, there are about three acres of low alluvial soil, that was formerly covered with a coarse, useless herbage of the swamp. Between the meadow and the slope of the mountain, "the town" built a "boulevard" (marked II on the map), practically "cribbing" an acre or two of land. Ahab, who needed Naboth's vineyard for public purposes, is the spiritual father of all "town boards."

At the extreme end of the farm, and just beyond the alluvial ground, was the channel of a brook (marked J). Its stony bed, through which trickled a rill, had a very innocent aspect on the October day when we looked the farm over and decided upon its purchase. The rill ran a little way on my grounds, then crept under the fence and skirted my western boundary for several hundred yards. On reaching a rise of land, it re-entered my place and ran obliquely across it. It thus enclosed three sides of the low, bushy meadow I have named. Its lower channel across the place had been stoned up with the evident purpose of keeping it within limits; but the three or four feet of space between the walls had become obstructed by roots, bushes, vines and debris in general. With the exception of the stony bed where it entered the farm, most of its course was obscured by overhanging bushes and the sere, rank herbage of autumn.

In a vague way I felt that eventually something would have to be done to direct this little child of the mountain into proper ways, and to subdue the spirit of the wilderness that it diffused on every side. I had its lower channel across the place (K K) cleared out, thinking that this might answer for the present; and the gurgle of the little streamlet along the bottom of the ditch seemed a low laugh at the idea of its ever filling the three square feet of space above it. Deceitful little brook! Its innocent babble contained no suggestion of its hoarse roar on a March day, the following spring, as it tore its way along, scooping the stones and gravel from its upper bed and scattering them far and wide over the alluvial meadow. Instead of a tiny rill, I found that I would have to cope at times with a mountain torrent. At first, the task was too heavy, and the fitful-tempered brook, and the swamp-like region it encompassed, were left for years to their old wild instincts. At last the increasing demands of my business made it necessary to have more arable land, and I saw that, if I could keep it from being overwhelmed with water and gravel, the alluvial meadow was just the place for strawberries.

I commenced at the lowest point where it finally leaves my grounds, and dug a canal (K K), twelve feet wide by four or five deep, across my place, stoning up its walls on either side. An immense amount of earth and gravel was thrown on the lower side so as to form a high, strong embankment in addition to the channel. Then, where it entered the farm above the meadow, I had a wide, deep ditch excavated, throwing all the debris between it and the land I wished to shield. Throughout the low meadow, two covered box-drains (L and M) were constructed so that the plow could pass over them. On the side of the meadow next to the boulevard and mountain, I had an open drain (N N) dug and filled with stones even with the ground. It was designed to catch and carry off the surface water, merely, from the long extent of mountain-slope that it skirted. The system of ditches to protect and drain the partial swamp, and also to manage the deceitful brook, was now finished, and I waited for the results. During much of the summer there was not a drop of water in the wide canal, save where a living spring trickled into it. The ordinary fall rains could scarcely more than cover the broad, pebbly bottom, and the unsophisticated laughed and said that I reminded them of a general who trained a forty-pound gun on a belligerent mouse. I remembered what I had seen, and bided my time.

But I did not have to wait till March. One November day it began to rain, and it kept on. All the following night there was a steady rush and roar of falling water. It was no ordinary pattering, but a gusty outpouring from the "windows of heaven." The two swales in the front and rear of the house became great muddy ponds, tawny as the "yellow Tiber," and through intervals of the storm came the sullen roar of the little brook that had been purring like a kitten all summer. Toward night, Mature grew breathless and exhausted; there were sobbing gusts of wind and sudden gushes of rain, that grew less and less frequent. It was evident she would become quiet in the night and quite serene after her long, tempestuous mood.

As the sun was setting I ventured out with much misgiving. The deepening roar as I went down the lane increased my fears, but I was fairly appalled by the wild torrent that cut off all approach to the bridge. The water had not only filled the wide canal, but also, at a point a little above the bridge, had broken over and washed away the high embankment. I skirted along the tide until I reached the part of the bank that still remained intact, and there beneath my feet rushed a flood that would have instantly swept away horse and rider. Indeed, quite a large tree had been torn up by its roots, and carried down until it caught in the bridge, which would also have gone had not the embankment above given way.

The lower part of the meadow was also under water. It had been plowed, and therefore would wash readily. Would any soil be left? A few moments of calm reflection, however, removed my fears. The treacherous brook had not beguiled me during the summer into inadequate provision for this unprecedented outbreak. I saw that my deep, wide cut had kept the flood wholly from the upper part of the meadow, which contained a very valuable bed of high-priced strawberry plants, and that the slowly moving tide which covered the lower part was little more than backwater and overflow. The wide ditches were carrying off swiftly and harmlessly the great volume that, had not such channels been provided, would have made my rich alluvial meadow little else than a stony, gravelly waste. And the embankment had given way at a point too low down to permit much damage.

The two swales in the front and rear of the house appeared like mill- ponds. In the former instance, the water had backed up from the mountain stream into which my drain emptied, and, therefore, it could not pass off; and in the latter instance I could scarcely expect my little underground channel to dispose at once of the torrents that for forty hours had poured from the skies. I must give it at least a night in which to catch up. And a busy night it put in, for by morning it had conveyed to depths unknown the wide, discolored pond, that otherwise would have smothered the plants it covered. As soon, also, as the mountain stream fell below the mouth of the lower drain, it emptied at once the water resting on the lower swale. Throughout the day came successive tales of havoc and disaster, of dams scooped out, bridges swept away, roads washed into stony gulches, and fields and gardens overwhelmed with debris. The Idlewild brook, that the poet Willis made so famous, seemed almost demoniac in its power and fury. Not content with washing away dams, roads, and bridges, it swept a heavy wall across a field as if the stones were pebbles.

My three diverse systems of drainage had thus practically stood the severest test, perhaps, that will ever be put upon them, and my grounds had not been damaged to any extent worth naming. The cost had been considerable, but the injury caused by that one storm would have amounted to a larger sum had there been no other channels for the water than those provided by nature.

My readers will find, in many instances, that they have land which must be or may be drained. If it can be done sufficiently, the very ideal strawberry soil may be secured—moist and deep, but not wet.



CHAPTER IX

THE PREPARATION OF SOILS COMPARATIVELY UNFAVORABLE—CLAY, SAND, ETC.

We have now reached a point at which we must consider land which in its essential character is unfavorable to strawberries, and yet which may be the best to be had. The difficulties here are not merely accidental or remediable, such as lack of depth or fertility, the presence of stones or stumps, undue wetness of soil, etc. Any or all of these obstacles may be found, but in addition there are evils inseparable from the soil, and which cannot be wholly eradicated. The best we can hope in such a case is to make up by art what is lacking in nature.

This divergence from the deep, moist sandy loam, the ideal strawberry land, is usually toward a stiff, cold, stubborn clay, or toward a droughty, leachy sand that retains neither fertility nor moisture. Of course, these opposite soils require in most respects different treatment.

We will consider first the less objectionable, that is, the heavy clay. To call clay more favorable for strawberries than sandy land may seem like heresy to many, for it is a popular impression that light soils are the best. Experience and observation have, however, convinced me of the contrary. With the clay you have a stable foundation. Your progress may be slow, but it can be made sure. The character of a sandy foundation was taught centuries ago. Moreover, all the fine foreign-blooded varieties, as well as our best native ones, grow far better on heavy land, and a soil largely mixed with clay gives a wider range in the choice of varieties.

If I had my choice between a farm of cold, stiff clay or light, leachy land, I would unhesitatingly take the former, and I would overcome its native unfitness by the following methods: If at all inclined to be wet, as would be natural from its tenacious texture, I should first underdrain it thoroughly with tile. Then, if I found a fair amount of vegetable matter, I would give it a dressing of air-slaked lime, and plow it deeply late in the fall, leaving it unharrowed so as to expose as much of the soil as possible to the action of frost. Early in the spring, as soon as the ground was dry enough to work and all danger of frost was over, I would harrow in buckwheat and plow it under as it came into blossom; then sow a second crop and plow that under also. It is the characteristic of buckwheat to lighten and clean land, and the reader perceives that it should be our constant aim to impart lightness and life to the heavy soil. Lime, in addition to its fertilizing effects, acts chemically on the ground, producing the desired effect. It may be objected that lime is not good for strawberries. That is true if crude lime is applied directly to the plants, as we would ashes or bone-dust; but when it is mixed with the soil for months, it is so neutralized as to be helpful, and in the meantime its action on the soil itself is of great value. It must be used for strawberries, however, in more limited quantities than for many other crops, or else more time must be given for it to become incorporated with the soil.

The coarse green straw of the buckwheat is useful by its mechanical division of the heavy land, while at the same time its decomposition fills the soil with ammonia and other gases vitally necessary to the plant. A clay soil retains these gases with little waste. It is thus capable of being enriched to almost any extent, and can be made a storehouse of wealth.

Where it can be procured, there is no better fertilizer for clay land than the product of the horse-stable, which, as a rule, can be plowed under in its raw, unfermented state, its heat and action in decay producing the best results. Of course, judgment and moderation must be employed. The roots of a young, growing plant cannot feed in a mass of fermenting manure, no matter what the soil may be. The point I wish to make is that cold, heavy land is greatly benefited by having these heating, gas-producing processes take place beneath its surface. After they are over, the tall, rank foliage and enormous fruit of the Jucunda strawberry (a variety that can scarcely grow at all in sand) will show the capabilities of clay.

Heavy land is the favorite home of the grasses, and is usually covered with a thick, tenacious sod. This, of course, must be thoroughly subdued before strawberries are planted, or else you will have a hay- field in spite of all you can do. The decay of this mass of roots, however, furnishes just the food required, and a crop of buckwheat greatly hastens decomposition, and adds its own bulk and fertility when plowed under. I think it will scarcely ever pay to plant strawberries directly on the sod of heavy land.

While buckwheat is a good green crop to plow under, if the cultivator can wait for the more slowly maturing red-top clover, he will find it far better, both to enrich and to lighten up his heavy soil; for it is justly regarded as the best means of imparting the mellowness and friability in which the roots of strawberries as well as all other plants luxuriate.

There are, no doubt, soils fit for bricks and piping only, but in most instances, by a judicious use of the means suggested, they can be made to produce heavy and long-continued crops of the largest fruit.

These same principles apply to the small garden-plot as well as to the acre. Instead of carting off weeds, old pea vines, etc., dig them under evenly over the entire space, when possible. Enrich with warm, light fertilizers, and if a good heavy coat of hot strawy manure is trenched in the heaviest, stickiest clay, in October or November, strawberries or anything else can be planted the following spring. The gardener, who thus expends a little thought and farsighted labor will at last secure results that will surpass his most sanguine hopes, and that, too, from land that would otherwise be as hard as Pharaoh's heart.

Before passing from this soil to that of an opposite character, let me add a few words of caution. Clay land should never be stirred when either very wet or very dry, or else a lumpy condition results that injures it for years. It should be plowed or dug only when it crumbles. When the soil is sticky, or turns up in great hard lumps, let it alone. The more haste the worst speed.

Again, the practice of fall plowing, so very beneficial in latitudes where frosts are severe and long continued, is just the reverse in the far South. There our snow is rain, and the upturned furrows are washed down into a smooth, sticky mass by the winter storms. On steep hillsides, much of the soil would ooze away with every rain, or slide downhill en masse. In the South, therefore, unless a clay soil is to be planted at once, it must not be disturbed in the fall, and it is well if it can be protected by stubble or litter, which shields it from the direct contact of the rain and from the sun's rays. But cow- peas, or any other rank-growing green crop adapted to the locality, is as useful to Southern clay as to Northern, and Southern fields might be enriched rapidly, since their long season permits of plowing under several growths.

Lime and potash in their various forms, in connection with green crops, would give permanent fertility to every heavy acre of Southern land. In my judgment, however, barnyard manure is not surpassed in value by any other in any latitude. If one owned clay land from which he could not secure good crops after the preparation that has been suggested, he had better either turn it into a brick-yard or emigrate.

Sandy Ground.—Suppose that, in contrast, our soil is a light sand. In this case the question of cultivation is greatly simplified, but the problem of obtaining a heavy crop is correspondingly difficult. The plow and the cultivator run readily enough, and much less labor is required to keep the weeds in subjection, but as a rule, light land yields little fruit; and yet under favorable circumstances I have seen magnificent crops of certain varieties growing on sand. If sufficient moisture and fertility can be maintained, many of our best varieties will thrive and produce abundantly; but to do this is the very pith of our difficulty. Too often a sandy soil will not retain moisture and manure. Such light land is generally very deficient in vegetable matter; and therefore, whenever it is possible, I would turn under green crops. If the soil could be made sufficiently fertile to produce a heavy crop of clover, and this were plowed under in June, and then buckwheat harrowed in and its rank growth turned under in August, strawberries could be planted as soon as the heat of decay was over, with excellent prospects of fine crops for the three succeeding years. Did I propose to keep the land in strawberries, I would then give it another year of clover and buckwheat, adding bone-dust, potash, and a very little lime in some form. The green crop, when decayed, is lighter than clay, and renders its tenacious texture more friable and porous; it also benefits the sandy soil by supplying the absent humus, or vegetable mould, which is essential to all plant life. This mould is also cool and humid in its nature, and aids in retaining moisture.

With the exception of the constant effort to place green vegetable matter under the surface, my treatment of sandy ground would be the reverse of that described for clay. Before using the product of the horse-stable, I would compost it with at least an equal bulk of leaves, muck, sods, or even plain earth if nothing better could be found. A compost of stable manure with clay would be most excellent. If possible, I would not use any manure on light ground until all fermentation was over, and then I would rather harrow than plow it in. This will leave it near the surface, and the rains will leach it down to the roots—and below them, also—only too soon. Fertility cannot be stored up in sand as in clay, and it should be our aim to give our strawberries the food they need in a form that permits of its immediate use. Therefore, in preparing such land, I would advise deep plowing while it is moist, if possible, soon after a rain; then the harrowing in of a liberal top-dressing of rotted compost, or of muck sweetened by the action of frost and the fermentation of manure, or, best of all, the product of the cow-stable. Decayed leaves, sods, and wood-ashes also make excellent fertilizers.

In the garden, light soils can be given a much more stable and productive character by covering them with clay to the depth of one or two inches every fall, and then plowing it in. The winter's frost and rains mix the two diverse soils, to their mutual benefit. Carting sand on clay is rarely remunerative; the reverse is decidedly so, and top- dressings of clay on light land are often more beneficial than equal amounts of manure.

As practically employed, I regard quick, stimulating manures, like aguno, very injurious to light soils. I believe them to be the curse of the South. They are used "to make a crop," as it is termed; and they do make it for a few years, but to the utter impoverishment of the land. The soil becomes as exhausted as a man would be should he seek to labor under the support of stimulants only. In both instances, an abundance of food is needed. A quinine pill is not a dinner, and a dusting of guano or phosphate cannot enrich the land.

And yet, by the aid of these stimulating commercial fertilizers, the poorest and thinnest soil can be made to produce fine strawberries, if sufficient moisture can be maintained. Just as a physician can rally an exhausted man to a condition in which he can take and be strengthened by food, so land, too poor and light to sprout a pea, can be stimulated into producing a meagre green crop of some kind, which, plowed under, will enable the land to produce a second and heavier burden. This, in turn, placed in the soil, will begin to give a suggestion of fertility. Thus, poor or exhausted soils can be made, by several years of skilful management, to convalesce slowly into strength.

Whether such patient outlay of time and labor will pay on a continent abounding in land naturally productive is a very dubious question.

Coarse, gravelly soils are usually even worse. If we must grow our strawberries on them, give the same general treatment that I have just suggested.

On some peat soils the strawberry thrives abundantly; on others it burns and dwindles. Under such conditions I should experiment with bone-dust, ashes, etc., until I found just what was lacking.

No written directions can take the place of common-sense, judgment, and, above all, experience. Soils vary like individual character. I have yet to learn of a system of rules that will teach us how to deal with every man we meet. It is ever wise, however, to deal justly and liberally. He that expects much from his land must give it much.

I have dwelt at length on the preparation and enrichment of the land, since it is the cornerstone of all subsequent success. Let me close by emphasizing again the principle which was made prominent at first. Though we give our strawberry plants everything else they need, our crop of fruit will yet be good or bad in the proportion that we are able to maintain abundant moisture during the blossoming and fruiting season. If provision can be made for irrigation, it may increase the yield tenfold.



CHAPTER X

COMMERCIAL AND SPECIAL FERTILIZERS

In preparing and enriching the soil, and especially in subsequent cultivation, concentrated fertilizers are very useful and often essential. In dealing with this subject, however, I think we tread upon uncertain ground. There is a great deal of apparent accuracy of figures and analyses, carried carefully into decimals, but a wonderful deal of vagueness, uncertainty, and contradiction in the experiences and minds of cultivators.

It is well known that many commercial fertilizers are scandalously adulterated, and those who have suffered from frauds are hostile to the entire class. In their strong prejudice, they will neither discriminate nor investigate. There are others who associate everything having a chemical sound with "book farming," and therefore dismiss the whole subject with a sniff of contempt. This clique of horticulturists is rapidly diminishing, however, for the fruit grower who does not read is like the lawyer who tries to practice with barely a knowledge of the few laws revealed by a limited experience. In contrast, there are others who read and theorize too exclusively, and are inclined to assert that concentrated fertilizers supersede all others. They scout the muck swamp, the compost heap, and even the barnyard, as old-fashioned, cumbrous methods of bringing to the soil, in tons of useless matter, the essentials which they can deliver in a few sacks or barrels. On paper, they are scientific and accurate. The crop you wish to raise has constituents in certain proportions. Supply these, they say, and you have the chemical compound, or crop. A field or garden, however, is not a sheet of blank paper, but a combination at which nature has been at work, and left full of obscurities. The results which the agricultural chemist predicted so confidently do not always follow, as they ought. Nature is often very indifferent to learned authorities.

There is yet another class—a large one, too—who regard these fertilizers as they do the drugs of an apothecary. They occasionally give their land a dose of them as they take medicine themselves, when indisposed or imagining themselves so. la either case there is almost entire ignorance of the nature of the compound or of definite reasons for its usefulness. Both the man and the field were "run down," and some one said that this, that, or the other thing was good. Therefore it was tried. Such haphazard action is certainly not the surest method of securing health or fertility.

In no other department of horticulture is there more room for common- sense, accurate knowledge, skill, and good management, than in the use of all kinds of fertilizers, and, in my judgment, close and continued observation is worth volumes of theory. The proper enrichment of the soil is the very cornerstone of success, and more fail at this point than at any other. While I do not believe that accurate and complete directions for the treatment of every soil can be written, it is undoubtedly true that certain correct principles can be laid down, and information, suggestion, and records of experience given which will be very useful. With such data to start with, the intelligent cultivator can work out the problem of success in the peculiar conditions of his own farm or garden.

It must be true that land designed for strawberries requires those constituents which are shown to compose the plant and fruit, and that the presence of each one in the soil should be in proportion to the demand for it. It is also equally plain that the supply of these essential elements should be kept up in continued cultivation. Therefore, the question naturally arises, what are strawberry plants and fruit made of? Modern wine, we know, can be made without any grape juice whatever, but as Nature compounds strawberries in the open sunlight, instead of in back rooms and cellars, she insists on all the proper ingredients before she will form the required combination.

"The Country Gentleman" gives a very interesting letter from Prof. S. W. Johnson, of the Connecticut Experiment Station, containing the following careful analysis made by J. Isidore Pierre, a French writer. "Pierre," says the professor, "gives a statement of the composition, exclusive of water, of the total yield per hectare of fruit, taken up to June 30, and of leaves, stems and runners, taken up to the middle of August. These results, calculated in pounds per acre, are the following (the plants contained 62.3 per cent of water and fruit 90 per cent):

Composition of the water-free strawberry crop (except roots), at the middle of August, in pounds per acre, according to Pierre:

Plants Fruits Totals Organic matter, exclusive of nitrogen 4268.4 1053.5 5321.9 Nitrogen 88.5 16.0 104.5 Silica, iron and manganese oxides 43.3 1.5/3.8 48.6 Phosphoric acid 35.3 5.4 40.7 Lime 102.7 7.9 110.6 Magnesia 16.1 .7 16.8 Potash 89.1 19.7 108.8 Soda 6.4 .9 7.3 Other matters 120.9 8.8 129.7

Dry substance 4770.7 1118.2 5888.9"

These are the constituents that, to start with, must be in the soil, and which must be kept there. This array of what to many are but obscure chemicals need not cause misgivings, since in most instances nature has stored them in the virgin soil in abundant proportions. Even in well-worn, long cultivated fields, some of them may exist in sufficient quantity. Therefore, buying a special fertilizer is often like carrying coals to Newcastle. Useless expenditure may be incurred, also, by supplying some, but not all, of the essential ingredients. A farmer applied six hundred pounds of superphosphate to a plat of corn- land, and three hundred pounds to an adjacent plat wherein the conditions were the same. The yield of the first plat was scarcely in excess of that of the second, and in neither case was there a sufficient increase to repay for the fertilizer. It does not follow that the man used an adulterated and worthless article. Analysis shows that corn needs nitrogen and potash in large proportions; and if these had been employed with the superphosphate, the result probably would have been very different. Superphosphate contains nitrogen, but not in sufficient degree. These considerations bring us to the sound conclusion that in enriching our land it would be wise to use complete fertilizers as far as possible; that is, manures containing all, or nearly all, the essential ingredients of the strawberry plant and fruit. If we could always know just what elements are lacking in our soils, we could merely supply these; but frequent analyses are expensive, and often misleading, at best. The safest plan is always to keep within reach of the plants the food we know they require, and the roots, with unerring instinct, will attend to the proportions. Hence the value of barnyard manure in the estimation of plain common-sense. A sensible writer has clearly shown that from twenty-three cows and five horses, if proper absorbents are used, $5.87 worth of nitrogen, potash, and phosphoric acid can be obtained every twenty-four hours, estimating these vitally important elements of plant-food at their wholesale valuation. In addition, there are the other constituents of the yard manure which, if not so valuable, are still very useful. To permit the waste of any fertilizer that can be saved or made upon our places, and then buy the same thing with the chance of being cheated, is thus shown to be wretched economy. Commercial fertilizers can never supersede the compost heap, into which should go everything which will enable us to place in the soil organic matter and the other elements that were given in the analysis; and if all the sewage and waste of the dwelling and the products of the stable, stys and poultry-house were well composted with muck, sod, leaves, or even common earth, and used liberally, magnificent and continued crops of strawberries could be raised from nearly all soils.

In many instances, however, home-made composts are wholly inadequate to supply the need, and stable manures are too costly or not to be obtained. The fruit grower should then go to those manufacturers of fertilizers who have the best reputation, and who give the best guarantees against deception. There are perfectly honest dealers, and it is by far the cheapest in the end to pay them their price for a genuine article. If such concentrated agents are used in connection with a green crop like clover, land can be made, and kept productive continuously. In the use of commercial fertilizers, there should be a constant and intelligent effort to keep up a supply of all the essential ingredients. Wood-ashes is a specific for strawberries. I have never found any one thing so good, and yet it is substantially but one thing, potash, and I should remember that the plant also requires nitrogen, which guano, or some form of animal manure, would furnish; lime, which is best applied to the strawberry in the form of bone meal, etc. The essential phosphoric acid is furnished in bone meal, the superphosphates, and also in wood-ashes. By referring to an analysis of the ash of red clover, it will be found to contain nearly everything that the strawberry requires.

The man who reads, observes, and experiments carefully, will find that he can accomplish much with lime and salt. If one has land full of vegetable or organic matter, an application of lime will render this matter fit for plant food, and the lime itself, in the course of a year or less, will be rendered harmless in the process. It also sweetens and lightens heavy, sour land, and thus, in time renders it better adapted to the strawberry; but lime should not be applied directly, in any considerable quantity, to strawberry plants, nor should it be used on very light soils deficient in vegetable matter. The judicious use of salt in small quantities will, I think, prove very beneficial, especially on light upland. It tends to prevent injury from drought, and to clear the land of the larvae of insects. I am inclined to think that much can be accomplished with this agent, and hope to make some careful experiments with it. But it should be used very cautiously, or it will check or destroy growth.

I have received a letter from Mr. J. H. Hale, of South Glastonbury, Conn., that is such a clear and interesting record of experience on this subject that I am led to give it almost entire:

"We have always used Peruvian guano, fish scrap, and ground bone to some extent, but until the past five years have depended mainly upon stable manure brought from New York city on boats, using about fifteen cords per acre yearly, and always with satisfactory results, the only objection being the expense. The price ranged from $8 to $12 per cord, or on an average of $150 per acre; and in trying to reduce this expense we commenced testing different fertilizers, planting, in 1874, one acre of strawberries manured with two tons of fish scrap, at $20 per ton, and one hundred bushels of unleached wood-ashes, at 30 cents per bushel; making a total cost of $70. The result was a strong, rapid growth of plants early in the summer, but in September and October they began to show signs of not having plant food enough, and then we saw our mistake in using fish in place of bone, or some other slow- acting fertilizer that the plants could not have taken up so greedily early in the summer, but would have had to feed on slowly all through the season. The fruit crop the following year, as might have been expected, was not a success, being only about half a crop. In 1875, we planted another acre, using one ton of ground bone and one hundred bushels of wood-ashes, at a total cost of $73; the result was a fine, even growth of plants all through the season, and a perfect crop of fruit the following year, fully equal to that on adjoining acres that had been manured with stable manure at a cost of $150 per acre, to say nothing of the carting of such a great bulk of manure. In the spring of 1876, being so well pleased with the appearance of our one acre manured with bone and ashes, we planned to fertilize all of our fruits in the same way. Then the question arose, where were we to get the ashes? We could buy enough for an acre or two, but not enough for our whole farm. What were we to do? Potash we must have, as that is the leading element of plant food required by small fruits of all kinds. We found we must look to the German potash salts for what we wanted, and we therefore bought several tons of High Grade (80 per cent) muriate of potash at $40 per ton, using 1,000 pounds per acre, and one ton of bone at $35, making a total cost of only $55 per acre. The plants did not grow quite as well early in the season as those on the fields where ashes were used, but later in the season they made a very fine growth, and at fruiting time, in 1877, we harvested a full and abundant crop of strawberries and raspberries. Since that time we have used nothing but ground bone and muriate of potash to manure all of our berry fields with, and continue to get fully as satisfactory results as in former years, when we depended upon stable manure at more than double the cost per acre. Some parties who have been looking into the matter suggest that possibly our satisfactory results are owing not so much to the fertilizers as to the liberal supply of stable manure used in former years. Yet the past season we picked 143 bushels of Charles Downings per acre, from a field manured with bone and potash, so poor and worn-out that two years before it would only produce six bushels of rye per acre. That land had no stable manure on it, and if it was not the bone and potash that furnished food for the berries, we would like to know what it was. The one mistake we have made is, I think, in not using six or eight hundred pounds of fish scrap or guano, and only 1,500 pounds of bone. The fish or guano, being such quick-acting fertilizers, would give the plants a much better start early in the season than would be the case if only the bone and potash were used. We shall try it the coming spring. In applying the potash great care should be taken to have it thoroughly incorporated with the soil, it being only about 55 per cent actual potash; the balance, being largely composed of salt, would, of course, kill the roots of young plants if brought directly in contact with them. In fields where we have used the potash, we have been troubled with white grubs only to a very limited extent, while portions of the same field where stable manure had been used were badly infested with them, and while I do not think salt will drive them ail out of the soil, I do believe it will do so to some extent. Besides the fertilizers I have named, we have in the past six years experimented in a small way with many others. Among them Stockbridge's strawberry manure and Mapes' fruit and vine manures, but have never had as good returns for the money invested as from the bone and potash; and yet, while they have proved of such great value to us, I would not advise you or any one to give up stable manure for them if you can get it at the same cost per acre, but if you cannot, then I say try bone dust and potash in a small way, until you learn just what your soil wants, and then supply it, whether it be 500, 1,000, or 2,000 pounds per acre."

Mr. Hale adds:

"The most of our soil is a sandy loam. We have some heavy loam and a few acres of clay gravel, and we have always had good results from the use of bone and potash on all of these soils.

"We have never used lime on our berry fields at the time of planting, and yet, as you know, all of our New England soils are deficient in lime. We use some indirectly, as we grow clover to plow under, and usually give at that time a good dressing of lime. As we try to have a new clover field every year, we get all around the farm in six or eight years, and we therefore get a dressing of lime all around once in that time, and have never been able to see any ill effects from it. In fact, we believe it a positive benefit in helping to keep down sorrel, if nothing more."

There would be very few worn-out farms, or poverty-stricken farmers, if all followed the example of the Hale brothers.

The value of potash and bone meal is thus clearly shown, but the latter does not contain nitrogen in sufficient quantity. I think Mr. Hale is correct in the opinion that he can secure better results by using at the same time some nitrogenous manure, like fish scrap, guano, etc. If he had heavy, cold, clay land to deal with, it is possible that he might find the stable manure the cheapest and best in the long run, even at its increased cost.

Mr. W. L. Ferris, of Poughkeepsie, writes to me that he has found great advantage in the use of the Mapes & Stockbridge special fertilizers. "My experience," he says, "is only as to strawberries, and on them I would say that the result of applying equal values of manure—stable and commercial—as to cost, would be from ten to twenty-five per cent in favor of the commercial, as a stimulant to apply in the spring, or, in small quantities, to plants first starting. This does not apply to the first preparation of the ground. In this direction I propose to experiment. I have heretofore applied fertilizers early in spring by hand, distributing it along the rows."

Records of varying experiences, and the discussion of commercial fertilizers, might be continued indefinitely, but enough has been said, I think, to suggest to each cultivator unacquainted with the subject in what directions he should seek success. If I were asked what is the one special manure in which the strawberry especially delights, I should answer unhesitatingly, the well decayed and composted production of the cow-stable, and if the reader had seen Mr. Durand's beds of the Great American variety in bearing, after being enriched with this material, he would be well satisfied to use it when it could be obtained. The vines of even this fastidious berry, that falters and fails in most soils, averaged one foot in height, and were loaded with enormous fruit. The subject may be summed up by an extract from a letter of Mr. Alexander Hyde to the "New York Times":

"Nitrates, phosphates, and ammonia are good fertilizers, and just the chemicals which most lands need, but plants require a good bed as well as good food. The physical condition of the soil, as well as the chemical, must receive attention; and we know of nothing superior to a well-made compost for furnishing both the chemical and physical conditions necessary for the development of our crops."



CHAPTER XI

OBTAINING PLANTS AND IMPROVING OUR STOCK

Having prepared and enriched our ground, we are ready for the plants. They can often be obtained from a good neighbor whose beds we have watched across the fence, and whose varieties we have sampled to our satisfaction. But the most liberal neighbors may not be able to furnish all we need, or the kinds we wish. Moreover, in private gardens, names and varieties are usually in a sad tangle. We must go to the nurseryman. At this point, perhaps, a brief appeal to the reader's common-sense may save much subsequent loss and disappointment.

In most of our purchases, we see the article before we take it, and can estimate its value. Just the reverse is usually true of plants. We know—or believe—that certain varieties are valuable, and we order them from a distance, paying in advance. When received, the most experienced cannot be sure that the plants are true to the names they bear. We must plant them in our carefully prepared land, expend upon them money, labor, and, above all, months and years of our brief lives, only to learn, perhaps, that the varieties are not what we ordered, and that we have wasted everything on a worthless kind. The importance of starting right, therefore, can scarcely be overestimated. It is always best to buy of men who, in the main, grow their own stock, and therefore know about it, and who have established a reputation for integrity and accuracy. The itinerant agent flits from Maine to California, and too often the marvellous portraits of fruits that he exhibits do not even resemble the varieties whose names they bear. It is best to buy of those who have a "local habitation and a name," and then, if anything is wrong, one knows where to look for redress.

Even if one wishes to be accurate, it is difficult to know that one's stock is absolutely pure and true to name. The evil of mixed plants is more often perpetuated in the following innocent manner than by any intentional deception: For instance, one buys from a trustworthy source, as he supposes, a thousand "Monarch" strawberry plants, and sets them out in the spring. All blossoms should be picked off the first year, and, therefore, there can be no fruit as a test of purity that season. But by fall there are many thousands of young plants. The grower naturally says: "I bought these for the Monarch, therefore they are Monarchs," and he sells many plants as such. When coming into fruit the second summer, he finds, however, that not one in twenty is a Monarch plant. As an honest man, he now digs them under in disgust; but the mischief has already been done, and scattered throughout the country are thousands of mixed plants which multiply with the vigor of evil. Nurserymen should never take varieties for granted, no matter where obtained. I endeavor so to train my eye that I can detect the distinguishing marks even in the foliage and blossoms, and if anything looks suspicious I root it out. The foliage of the Monarch of the West is so distinct that if one learns to know it he can tell whether his plants are mixed at a glance.

If possible, the nurseryman should start with plants that he knows to be genuine, and propagate from them. Then, by constant and personal vigilance, he can maintain a stock that will not be productive chiefly of profanity when coming into fruit. This scrutiny of propagating beds is a department that I shall never delegate to any one else.

It is not thrift to save in the first cost of plants, if thereby the risk of obtaining poor, mixed varieties is increased. I do not care to save five dollars to-day and lose fifty by the operation within a year. A gentleman wrote to me, "I have been outrageously cheated in buying plants." On the same page he asked me to furnish stock at rates as absurdly low as those of the man who cheated him. If one insists on having an article at far less than the cost of production, it is not strange that he finds some who will "cheat him outrageously." I find it by far the cheapest in the long run to go to the most trustworthy sources, and pay the grower a price which enables him to give me just what I want.

When plants are both fine and genuine they can still be spoiled, or, at least, injured in transit from the ground where they grew. Dig so as to save all the roots, shake these clean of earth, straighten them out, and tie the plants into bundles of fifty. Pack in boxes, with the roots down in moss and the tops exposed to the air. Do not press them in too tightly or make them too wet, or else the plants become heated —a process which speedily robs them of all vitality. In cool seasons, and when the distance is not too great, plants can be shipped in barrels thickly perforated with holes. The tops should be toward the sides and the roots in the centre, down through which there should be a circulation of air. In every case, envelop the roots in damp moss or leaves—damp, but not wet. Plants can be sent by mail at the rate of one cent per ounce, and those obtained in this way rarely fail in doing well.

This fact should be carefully kept in mind by those residing long distances from express offices, or the points from which they wish to order their plants. Packages weighing four pounds and less can be sent by mail and received with our letters, and by a little inquiry and calculation it may be found the cheapest and most convenient way of obtaining them. I find no difficulty in mailing all the small fruit plants to every part of the continent.

The greater part of the counting and packing of plants should be done in a cellar, or some place of low, even temperature, in order to prevent the little fibrous roots, on which the future growth so greatly depends, from becoming shrivelled. The best part of the roots are extremely sensitive to sunlight or frost, and, worse than all, to a cold, dry wind. Therefore, have the plants gathered up as fast as they are dug and carried to a damp, cool room, where the temperature varies but little. From such a place they can be packed and shipped with the leisure that insures careful work.

After having obtained good, genuine plants to start with, we can greatly improve our stock by a system of careful selection. This is a truth of great importance, but so obvious that we need not dwell long upon it. Let me illustrate what I mean by the course I propose to enter upon during the coming season. In our beds of each variety there will be a few plants that, for some reason, will surpass all the others in vigor, productiveness, and especially in the manifestation of the peculiar and distinguishing traits of the variety. I shall carefully mark such plants, remove all others from their vicinity, and propagate from them. Thus, in the course of two or three years, I shall renew my entire stock of standard varieties from the very best and most characteristic specimens of each kind. From this improved stock the best types should be chosen again and again; and by this course I am satisfied that a surprising degree of excellence can be attained. It is on the same principle of careful breeding from blooded and perfect animals. From very many localities come the complaint that Wilsons and other fine old varieties are "running out." How can it be otherwise, in view of the treatment they receive and the careless way in which they are propagated? Even when unmixed, they are usually the enfeebled children of degenerate parents. There is no variety in the country more badly mixed than the Wilson; and the trouble often arises from wild strawberries creeping in among them from the edges of the field. The spurious plants are taken up with the others, and the mixture is scattered up and down the land. The same is true with other varieties that have long been in cultivation. Indeed, I have found mixtures in new varieties obtained directly from the originators. Therefore the need that the plant grower should give personal and unceasing vigilance to the stock from which he propagates, and that those who take a pride in improving their stock should often scan their beds narrowly. Moreover, if a bed stands several years in the same place, new seedlings may spring up, and thus create a mixture.



CHAPTER XII

WHEN SHALL WE PLANT?

Nature has endowed the strawberry-plant with the power of taking root and growing readily at almost any season when young plants can be obtained. My best success, however, has been in November and early spring. The latter part of May and the month of June is the only time at which I have not planted with satisfactory results. In Northern latitudes, early spring is preferable, for at this season the ground is moist, showers are abundant, and the impulse of growth is strong. The weather is cool, also, and therefore the plants rarely heat or dry out during transportation.

In the South, autumn is by far the best time to plant. When the young plants are grown on the same place, they may be transferred to the fruiting beds and fields any time between July and the middle of November. The earlier they are set out, if they can be kept growing during the remainder of the hot season, the larger will be the yield the following spring. As a rule, plants, unless grown in pots, can not be shipped from the North or South until cold weather. The forwarding to the latitude of Richmond begins in September, and to points further south in October and November; from Florida to Louisiana I hear of almost unvarying success.

Of late years the practice of growing plants in pots and sending them out as the florists do flowers has become very prevalent. These potted plants can be set out in July, August and September, and the ball of earth clinging to their roots prevents wilting, and, unless they are neglected, insures their living. Pot-grown plants are readily obtained by sinking two and a half or three inch pots up to their rims in the propagating-beds, and filling them with rich earth mingled with old, thoroughly rotted compost, leaf mould, decayed sods, etc., but never with fresh, unfermented manure. I have found the admixture of a little fine bone meal with the soil to be strong aid to vigorous growth. The young runners are then so guided and held down by a small stone or lump of earth that they will take root in the pots, indeed, quite large plants, if still attached to thrifty runners, may be taken up, their roots shortened to one-quarter of an inch, and these inserted in the little pots, which will be speedily filled with a new growth of roots. It is very important that abundant and continuous moisture should be maintained. A hot wind or a scorching sun will dry out within a few hours the small amount of earth the pots contain, and the plants thus receive a check from which they may never recover. The amateur should watch them closely, and the plant grower should employ a man with the clear understanding that he would lose his position if he permitted moisture to fail even for half a day.