Kitabı oku: «Natalie: A Garden Scout», sayfa 5

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.

“Oh, I forgot all about the woodland down by the stream! I’ll run down there in the morning to see if I can find any rotted leaves,” said Natalie eagerly.

“Natalie, you should also hunt up some long boards in the barn, or cellar, to use when we plant the seeds,” advised Mrs. James.

“Boards – what for?”

“Well, if we have the soil all smooth and fine for planting, our feet will trample down the ground wherever we walk. We must do our seeding by leaning over the bed and work down from each side of the two-foot wide space. By placing a board on the foot-path between the beds, we can stand on it and keep the soil from becoming packed.”

“I should think it would do the path good to be packed down good and hard.”

“So it will, but the board will do that in an even manner. Our shoes will cut in and cause the packing to be done in an uneven way,” explained Mrs. James.

“I suppose we will have to fill some baskets with any leaf-mould we may find in the woodland. But how can we carry them up to the gardens?” Natalie now said.

“Maybe Mr. Ames can suggest a way to do that better than our carrying the heavy loads.”

“Well, I’d willingly carry it, just to have the benefit of it on my garden. The vegetables will grow like anything, – Mr. Ames says they will,” responded Natalie.

After a few moments of silence, she turned again to Mrs. James and asked: “Why did you just say that we might rake up the leaves in the fall and put them aside for the winter? Don’t you know we won’t be here when the leaves fall?”

“I’m not so sure of that, Natalie,” returned Mrs. James. “I have been thinking matters out very carefully, and from present indications there will be a great scarcity of apartments, or rooms, to be had in New York this year. The rents will be outrageous for us to pay, and as long as we are so comfortably housed here, why try to earn the necessary income for high rents? The distance to the station is not long, and you can easily commute to the city to attend school in September. When winter weather really sets in, we can take a trunk and board in New York until spring. That will overcome all financial worries about leases and rents.”

“Oh, I never thought of that! But the girls wouldn’t stay with me after September, I’m afraid,” exclaimed Natalie.

“We won’t have to plan or worry about that now,” laughed Mrs. James. “Maybe the girls will be so much in love with farm-life, they will beg their parents to permit them to remain longer than September! In that case, you will have no loneliness, I’m sure.”

“No, that’s so; and I suppose it is really up to me to make them so happy here that they will want to remain,” admitted Natalie.

“I haven’t suggested this possibility to Mr. Marvin, as yet, but I know he will be tremendously relieved to hear of it, as he is wondering what can be done in the fall, with our income so limited.”

“Well, let’s talk about it the first time he comes out to see us. I am perfectly contented to remain here, if it is best for all.”

After this digression, both amateur farmers turned their attention to the scouting manual again.

“It states here, Jimmy, that one must be careful not to allow the garden soil to run over boundaries, and spread out upon the foot-paths. This can be avoided by using a low length of fence made of a thin board about six inches high, or the beds can be walled in with field-stone which looks very artistic as well as useful. The plan of walling in the beds also helps to retain the moisture in the ground where the roots can drink it as needed.”

“I’ll make a note of that, Natalie, as it sounds practical,” said Mrs. James, writing down the idea on a paper.

“And it also suggests that the garden beds be built up from the pathway for about two or three inches, making a tiny terrace of each bed and sinking the foot-path below the bed. By so doing, any excessive moisture is drained out from the soil, so the roots are not kept too wet,” read Natalie.

“Yes, I knew that before, and we certainly will follow that suggestion when we spread out our beds.”

“Well, when we get as far as that in the work, our seeds ought to arrive,” remarked Natalie, yawning behind her hand.

Mrs. James smiled at the yawn for it was not yet eight o’clock, and the previous evening Natalie had grumbled about retiring as early as nine. But she said nothing about the yawn.

“Don’t hold up the delivery of the seeds on the ground that we must finish all the garden beds first,” laughed the lady.

“Mercy no! I am as anxious to see the seeds as I am to plant the tiny green shoots that Mr. Ames promised to give us.” Then after another mighty yawn that almost dislocated her jaw, Natalie added: “Jimmy, I want to get up very early in the morning to plant those slips we got to-day. Mr. Ames says I must give them several hours in the ground before the sun is up, so they won’t wilt and die. So I think I will go up to bed – if you don’t mind?”

“By all means, Natalie. And I will follow, shortly. I just want to enter a few notes on our work in this diary, then I will retire, also; I think we can work better at dawn if we get our full quota of sleep during the night.”

The next day was given to breaking up the clods of earth and raking out the smaller stones to clear the garden beds. The compost was well-mixed with the soil by Farmer Ames, while Mrs. James and Natalie went down to the woodland by the river and found certain places where leaf-mould was plentiful. It was as fine as gunpowder, and of an exceptionally rich quality. That morning, Mr. Ames had arrived, driving Bob and an old buckboard. When it was proposed that someone go for the leaf-mould, Natalie instantly suggested that they drive Bob to the woodland so the baskets could be placed on the buckboard and carried to the garden that way. This would save time and great exertion on the part of someone to carry them from the river to the beds.

Now the containers were lifted up and placed securely on the back and front platforms of the buckboard and the two hard-working companions gladly sat down on the seat and started Bob up the grass-grown road.

Soon they were helping to spread out the leaf-mould on the soil, and while they worked, Natalie asked: “Mr. Ames, how comes it that no one ever went to the river bank to get this rich mould?”

“Well, that woodland and the river banks belongs to this farm, so no one else would trespass on it. And the man who ran this farm had idees of his own about fertilizer. He placed no faith in Nature’s work, but kep’ on buyin’ and experimentin’ with stuff what came from Noo York.”

Mr. Ames stood up while delivering this explanation, then he added, winking wisely at Natalie:

“But he diden spile yer farm, fer all his foolin’ wid Noo York stuff instead of goin’ to Nature fer her goods.”

His hearers laughed and Mrs. James remarked: “No, I should say not. And you said yourself that he managed to get the best results of any farmer round here.”

When the leaf-mould was well spread over three garden beds, Mr. Ames made a suggestion.

“Now you two women-folk kin use my tape-line to measure off three beds as wide as yuh want ’em, whiles I goes down to the woods with Bob and brings up some more mould fer the other beds. When the marking is done, you kin begin to plant them termater plants I brought this mornin’. I left ’em in the cellar whar it was cool and damp.”

This was encouraging, for it began to sound as if the garden was really a fact. Before the seeds or slips were in the ground, something might happen to change the plan, thought Natalie. So Mrs. James and she eagerly measured out the first few beds, and about the time Mr. Ames was ready to drive up his installment of leaf-mould, they were ready to get the cabbage and tomato plants.

Before sundown that day, three beds were on the way to producing their vegetables. One bed was planted with tomatoes and one with cabbages, the third was used for beets and radishes – plants which had been kept in the cellar from the evening before.

“To-morrer we will git the other beds done and you’se kin seed ’em down wid all you’se wants to raise,” said Mr. Ames, as he mounted the old buckboard and prepared to drive home.

“Oh, Mr. Ames!” called Natalie anxiously. “Do you have anyone who drives to the Corners to-night, or in the morning, so they might get our seeds from the mail?”

“I’m goin’ in m’se’f t’-night. Yeh see, Si Tompkins has sort of a country-club meetin’ at his store every week on this night, an’ I hain’t never missed one!” bragged Farmer Ames.

“What do you do at the meetings?” asked Natalie wonderingly.

“Oh, mos’ everything. Lately it has be’n all about the damp cold season, an’ how we are goin’ to get our truck goin’ ef this weather keeps up. Some of th’ farmers exchange advice on matters. Then when the weather ain’t bad, we talks about polerticks. That old League of Nations kept us fuming fer th’ longest time! But now that it’s dead, we let it bury itself.”

Both Natalie and Mrs. James laughed appreciatively at his explanation, and the former added: “Well, if you will only bring our seeds, if they have arrived, I won’t dispute your rights to argue on politics.”

“That I will, and gladly,” returned the farmer as he drove away.

Natalie turned to Mrs. James and asked whimsically: “Did Mr. Ames mean he would gladly argue politics with us, or gladly bring the seeds back?”

“He meant both, I’m sure,” laughed Mrs. James.

But he did not appear again that evening, and Natalie wondered why not. Mrs. James laughingly replied: “Because he, most likely, is the speaker for the night’s meeting at the store.”

Although this was said jokingly, it was exactly what occurred and detained the farmer from driving home until after ten. As the farm-house was dark at that time, he decided to take the package of seeds home and deliver them in the morning when he put in his appearance for work.

The farmerettes were ready for him, when he finally drove in at the side gate. Natalie watched eagerly as he got out of the vehicle – she wondered if he had the seeds.

“I got th’ seeds, ladies, but I be’n thinkin’ about them pertater seeds what my brother told me about las’ night when we druv home from Tompkins’ Corners. Yuh hain’t got no pertaters figgered on yet, have yeh?”

“Laws no! I forgot all about potatoes,” exclaimed Natalie, using Rachel’s favorite exclamation when amazed.

“Well – no harm done,” returned Mr. Ames. “My brother has a reputation fer growin’ th’ best pertater seed in the state, an’ he says he kin spare yuh about a peck, ef yuh let him know at once. I allus gits mine of him, an’ my crops never fail.”

“A peck! Why, Mr. Ames – a peck of seed will plant that whole field!” cried Natalie, nodding to the big buckwheat field that adjoined her farm.

It was the farmer’s turn to look amazed now. He glanced from the speaker to Mrs. James and back again. Mrs. James laughed and said: “Did you think potato seed looked like our other seeds?”

“Of course, – doesn’t it?”

Then Farmer Ames threw back his head and gave vent to a loud guffaw. His Adam’s apple jumped up and down in his throat as he gasped for breath, and his under lip came near being drawn out of sight in the suction caused by his gasp.

“Wall, ef that don’t beat the Irish!” exclaimed he, when he could speak again. “Mebbe we’ll have a few other surprises to give Miss Natalie afore she is done farmin’.”

“I haven’t a doubt of it!” retorted she. “But just now you might explain about potato seed.”

“How much seed would you have ordered for a patch of ground about six beds’ size?” asked Mr. Ames instead of answering her request.

“About a pint, – maybe half a pint would be enough.”

Rachel had heard the farmer’s loud laughter and having learned the cause of it, she decided to spare her little mistress any further ridicule. So she got an old potato from the basket and, having washed it carefully, went to the door.

“Oh, Natty! Ah say, Mis’ Natty! Come right heah, Honey.”

Natalie turned and smilingly nodded at Rachel; then excused herself to Mr. Ames and ran up the steps of the kitchen porch.

“See heah, Chile! Don’ you go an’ show your ig’nance about farmin’ in front of dat country-man. Now watch me, Honey, an’ den go back an’ play yoh knew it all dis time! Let Mis’r Ames think yuh was funnin’ him.”

Rachel then took the large potato and showed it to Natalie. “See dem leetle dimples in diffrunt places on its skin? Well, – dem is called ‘eyes,’ and when a pertater gits ole, dem eyes begins to sprout. Every sprout will make a pertater vine, so farmers call dem eyes ‘pertater seeds’ – see?”

“Really! Why, Rachel, how interesting!” cried Natalie, taking the potato and studying the eyes.

“Yep! An’ what’s more, you’se kin cut a pertater what has f’om two to six eyes a-growin’, into pieces so one big pertater will plant as many vines as pieces you cut outen him.”

“This potato has five big eyes, Rachel,” said Natalie, counting carefully.

“An’ bein’ a great big pertater, I kin cut five pieces – watch me.”

Rachel then deftly cut the five sections and handed them to Natalie. “But it isn’t bestes to cut so many slices, cuz the sap leaks out and that loses a lot of de power to grow a sturdy plant, Natty. When pertaters is plentiful, we gen’ally cuts ’em in half – an’ the skin pertecks the sap from runnin’ away. Ef we wants to use all dese five pieces, we has to put ’em in the hot sunshine fer an hour er two, to dry up de cut skin. Dat keeps in de juice when de slice is in de ground. And de juice is what feeds de sprout until it grows above de ground.”

“Rachel, you are a brick! Now I can go back to Mr. Ames and show off all I know!” laughed Natalie joyously, as she ran from the kitchen and joined Mrs. James and the farmer again.

But there was no opportunity for her to display her knowledge, as Mrs. James had an invitation ready for her. “Mr. Ames says he would like to have us drive with him to his brother’s farm and see a model little place. We can bring back the potato seed and, at the same time, get lots of good advice and ideas about running our farm this summer.”

In a few minutes more the three were crowded in upon the seat of the buckboard and Rachel stood in the kitchen doorway watching them drive off. Their gay laughter echoed back to her as she returned to the sink to finish the dishes, and she smiled as she murmured to herself: “Ef dis summer out on a farm don’ make dat chile oveh inter a new bein’, den my name ain’t ‘Rachel!’”