Making a Windmill Garden
JAST September, if I had been asked to give some account of my garden here above the woods, where only daisies and hawthorn and a few small blue flowers have hitherto grown, I should have been de- lighted ; for then my garden was all superbly planned out in my head, I knew exactly how it would appear in March. or April, and what, to the owner-gardener, can be more, fascinating than to stand a little apart from his domain and build flower-castles in the air above the rich unbroken Soil, in the season of planting ?
Flowers—waves of flowers in the wind ! I could have told you then how in March, 1929, the grassy crown of the hill would be starred with crocuses, how in April the whole base of the windmill would be lapped in daffodils and white narcissus. I intended to make it so. I could have written a long, competent and elaborate account explaining exactly hoW a windmill garden was to be laid Out and constructed. But now The painful truth has been dawning on me, and to-day. I detect a resemblance between owner-gardeners and poets that is almost too depressing for contemplation. It seems that the more imaginative the gardener, the more, readily must he prepare to reconcile himself to the Prospect of posthilmons farne. In fifty years' time hOW the travellers through these valleys beloW will marvel as they look up at this hill-top alight in spring with its clouds of gold petals and in summer with its masses of climbing roses ! Meanwhile I must obscurely set about preparing the stony ground and planting ramblers at the feet of the ,sail-supports for that future benefit about Which, not :being a broad-minded philanthropist, I really care little.., The way of the gardener in virgin soil is indeed hard.
Naturally, I had .not, thought to make myself a garden by the' mete imagining of a riot of blossom. Months ago I bought a spade and a turfing-iron and a trowel and a load of bulbs and cuttings, and, in those still blue days of last autumn I really did quite a lot of work. But there have been unforeseen set-backs in the making of eh garden up in the wind ; and because things have not turned out according to plan, in spite of my efforts, I am determined, contrarily, to record some of these set-backs whether anyone wants to hear or not.
• In the first place, the cows were against me: We have been cutting down some of .the little larch trees in the wood, and have lately completed a fence, or defence, all round the windmill, so that these inquisitive animals have now had to go elsewhere in search of new sensations. But in October, entirely out of spite, so far as I can see, they took it into their heads to trample' down a bank, which I had but just thrown up for primroses; and then one of them ate a basketful of daffodil bulbs, and—L. though I am not naturally vindictive—I was very glad indeed to notice how gloothy and disillusioned it was looking later in the day. The cews have certainly done their best to keep my garden from growing ; but cows, after all, are gentle and necessary if dull-witted creatures, and I am not inclined to blame them particularly. Goats on the other hand, are ferocious, persistently spiteful; domimihting, loathsome, and entirely unnecessary, and if ever one of our dumb friends thoroughly deserved to be deprived of its claim for protection from cruelty, it is this hideous she-goat belonging to the windmill cottage below. Peggy, forsooth ! This animal wears the very mask of Mephistopheles, and I hereby give notice that if, in the near future, the R.S.P.C.A., or any kindred body, should receive particulars of an apparent goat-assassina- tion in England, it will be merely futile for them to insti- tute proceedings against the alleged murderer. This goat will have brought its doom upon itself, and I can prove as much.
This goat did, firstly : Level to the ground and com- pletely destroy row of small cypress trees planted in autumn. Secondly; devour biilbs on three separate occasions. Thirdly, continue to crop down shoots of hyacinth and crocus from their first appearance in February. Fourthly, force an entrance into lower floor of windmill and partially devour a dozen apples. Fifthly, the same, with additional .devouring of potatoes, carrots, and onions. Sixthly, devour small firewood. Seventhly, climb hawthorn tree and crop down young shoots.
If such acts of malice aforethought—and the beast is still at large, and no day passes but it is on the look-out for fresh opportunities—I say if such acts do not provide reason enough for goat-slaughter, I will eat my remaining hat (my best one having already been eaten by the said goat). Has it ever previously been recorded, by the way, that goats can climb trees ? I testify to having seen this one half-way up a hawthorn, engaged in systematically counteracting the possibility of blossom (the red may, almost my favourite flower) in April. Nor will threats or minatory gestures in the least avail. The goat simply prances out of reach until the coast seems clear, when it prances back again. One of these days I shall be really roused, and then, perhaps, I shall see that it prances right down the hill till it comes to the main road, where any motorist will be welcome to chase it for as many miles as it will run. But my garden- has already been blighted, and now that I come to consider the manifold woes that may still befall it in the making (for example, would not the first big wind utterly flatten out my waves of daffodils ?) I am more than ever inclined to be content with the garden I had last September. I should like to see those small pink roses climbing out on the sails' lattice- Work, but it would take too long to get them there. My likeliest plan now is one for a row of peas, fenced in with barbed Wire ; but those delicate plants would require a protection of sturdy bushes against the wind in so high a place, so I am afraid it will be- a long time yet before I am eating my own peas for supper. H. M.
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