In the Garden The drought of last winter is making
itself felt now that the hot weather has come. The cherries look harsh and crabbed, and I am wondering how sparse the crop will be, in spite of the miraculous way in which the blossom dodged the late frosts in early May. The lawns, too, are not so lush-green this year. One cut a week suffices to keep them down, while ants abound. Several clumps of newly set-out dahlia roots have failed to show signs of life. .1 have found the tubers eaten away by ants. Even so, I cannot escape a feeling of guilt at waging war on these tiny industrialists. But it has to be done, and with a very armageddon of attack, in which boiling water seems to be the most lethal, and various proprietary powders the most insidious. The only way in which I stifle my conscience is by looking at the rows of early potatoes where too many heads are dwindling like curious teeth, indicating that the ants are making their nerve-racking traffic at the roots. RICHARD CHURCH.
Previous page
