The
oxalis! How we tended it in pots in New England, and out here in
California, bless its heart, it runs around like a native daughter. And
as for the fuchsia, how far it has grown from the blue laws.
There is no formality in Zoe's garden. Marigolds go wandering about in
the most trampish manner, and poppies, because they are privileged
characters, spring up as they please. Then, as though the two of them
were not sufficient California gold, there is the faithful gaillardia
with its prim little sunflower-faces smiling up at their Mother Sun.
It is a democratic garden, too. Golden rod and asters grow right in
among the aristocrats. Fancy the snubbing they would get if they once
ventured into a New England garden - Hm. There is freedom there, but not
license, and every opportunity for individuality. The gladiolas,
canterbury bells, gillie flowers and fox gloves grow as prim as in a
conservative English garden. Pansies smile in their little bed, and
although the nasturtium, the wild-growing, happy-go-lucky nasturtium,
goes visiting around among all his neighbors, he is never allowed to
interfere with those who wish to keep by themselves. The sweet peas
stay very close to their tradition of wire netting, but they are not
snobs at all, and give of their bounty to all who call. The sensuous
jasmine is there, and the cold puritanical ceneraria and old maids' pin
cushions, with fragrance of sandalwood.
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