ABC of Vegetable Gardening by Eben Eugene Rexford
ABC of Vegetable Gardening by Eben Eugene Rexford
The amateur gardener will almost invariably be in too great a hurry to begin gardening operations in the spring. But a few warm days are not sufficient to put the ground in proper condition for seeding, or even for plowing and spading. The frost must be allowed to get out of it, and after that an opportunity must be given for surplus water from melting snows and spring rains to drain away before work can be done to any advantage. As a general thing not much can be done in gardening at the North before the first of May.
It is an old saying that "haste makes waste," and the gardener who is in too great a hurry often learns the truth which underlies the saying by the failure to germinate of the seed he puts into the ground very early in the season.
Another old saying that should be kept in mind is that "one swallow does not make a summer." Read "warm day" for "swallow" and you will get the force of the statement. It is not advisable to do much at gardening until you are reasonably sure that warm weather has come to stay. Even if early-planted seed comes up, spells of cold weather, and often of frost, which we are likely to have at the North until about the first of May, will have such a debilitating effect on comparatively hardy plants that those grown from later sowings, when all conditions are favorable, will come to maturity ahead of them. Therefore it will be seen that it is poor policy to be in too great a hurry, and good policy to wait for what the farmer calls "growing weather" before doing much work in the garden.
If very early vegetables are wanted it will be necessary to start them in the hotbed. In another chapter I will give some directions for the making and management of this very important adjunct of gardening.
The first thing to do in making a garden is to plow or spade it. Plowing is not admissible on small grounds, but where there is room enough to allow a team and plow to operate I would advise it in preference to spading, because it will save a good deal of hard work, and greatly expedite matters. Before plowing some system of manuring should be decided on, as whatever fertilizer is used should be worked well into the soil, and this the plow can do most effectively. Barn-yard manure, if old and well rotted, is better than anything else I have any knowledge of for all kinds of vegetables, but unfortunately it is seldom obtainable by those who do not live in the country. There are many commercial fertilizers on the market, but not all kinds of them are adapted to all kinds of soil. In order to secure the best results it is advisable that the amateur gardener should consult some dealer in these fertilizers in his immediate vicinity, or some one who has had personal experience in their use, with a view to making sure that he is getting just the kind best adapted to the soil in his garden. It is absolutely necessary that he should do this, in fact, for if he buys at random he runs the risk of getting something that will fail to answer his purpose.
While it is always advisable to apply whatever fertilizer is used before plowing, commercial fertilizers can be applied later with good effect; but it will be necessary to apply them in such a manner that they do not come directly into contact with the seed, as many of them are so strong that they kill it.
Plow the garden deeply, for by so doing you bring to the surface a stratum of soil in which there is more latent fertility than in that close to the surface.
After plowing, allow the soil to remain as thrown up from the furrow for two or three days. Sunshine and warm air will have a disintegrating effect on it, which will make it easy for you to reduce it under the application of hoe and iron rake to that mellow condition so necessary to the welfare of the plants you propose to grow. It should be worked over and over until not a lump is left in it. You cannot expect to grow good vegetables in a soil that has not been well pulverized before seed is planted. Large grounds, or those of a size that admit of the use of horses, can be speedily mellowed with the harrow, which should be run over the ground from all directions until it is thoroughly pulverized. In the small garden the rake and hoe will have to take the place of the harrow.
Small pieces of ground should be spaded. Let the soil remain as thrown up by the spade for two or three days before attempting to work it.
I have been told by some amateur gardeners that they did not use much manure because trees and shrubs that grew in close proximity to their gardens were so thrifty without manuring that they felt confident that the soil must be quite rich enough for vegetables without resorting to the use of any fertilizer. These persons lacked the experience which would have enabled them to understand the wide difference between tree and vegetable growth. A tree or a bush sends its roots deeply and widely into the soil, and applies to its uses food that the vegetable cannot send its roots in search of. The roots of most garden plants do not extend far in any direction, nor go very deep; therefore food must be given directly to them if we would secure the best possible result. There are very few gardens in which the natural soil has a sufficient amount of nutriment to produce the effect we aim at without the addition of some kind of plant-food.
A rich soil is absolutely necessary in order to hasten development. Unless a vegetable makes a quick growth it is pretty sure to be lacking in tenderness and flavor. Of course it is possible to apply a greater amount than a plant can make use of, thus forcing an unhealthy growth, but this is not likely to happen if we consult the wise old gardener who knows his garden and the plants he grows in it as a mechanic knows the machine he uses.
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In the glittering world of high society and cutthroat ambition, a single sentence shatters a marriage: "Let's get a divorce." For three years, Claire Thompson has lived in exile, her marriage to the powerful Nelson Cooper a hollow shell existing only on paper. Shipped abroad on her wedding day and utterly forgotten, she returns only to be handed divorce papers. But Claire is no longer the timid, heartbroken girl she once was. Behind her quiet facade lies a woman transformed, secretly rejoicing at her newfound freedom. However, freedom comes with a price. As Claire signs the papers with relief, a chilling phone call reveals a dark truth: the threats she faced overseas were no accident, and the trail leads shockingly close to home-to the family that raised her and the husband who discarded her. Just as she prepares to sever all ties, a twist of fate pulls her back into the gilded cage. Nelson, for reasons unknown, suddenly stalls the divorce. Meanwhile, the family that disowned her and the fragile, manipulative sister who stole her life are determined to ruin her reputation and drive her out for good. But Claire is playing a different game now. With a mysterious new identity, powerful allies, and secrets of her own, she is no one's pawn. As hidden truths unravel and loyalties are tested, a stunning question emerges: In this high-stakes battle of love, betrayal, and revenge, who is truly trapping whom?
At their wedding night, Kayla caught her brand-new husband cheating. Reeling and half-drunk, she staggered into the wrong suite and collapsed into a stranger's arms. Sunrise brought a pounding head-and the discovery she was pregnant. The father? A supremely powerful tycoon who happened to be her husband's ruthless uncle. Panicked, she tried to run, but he barred the door with a faint, dangerous smile. When the cheating ex begged, Kayla lifted her chin and declared, "Want a second chance at us? Ask your uncle." The tycoon pulled her close. "She's my wife now." The ex gasped, "What!?"
After hiding her true identity throughout her three-year marriage to Colton, Allison had committed wholeheartedly, only to find herself neglected and pushed toward divorce. Disheartened, she set out to rediscover her true self-a talented perfumer, the mastermind of a famous intelligence agency, and the heir to a secret hacker network. Realizing his mistakes, Colton expressed his regret. "I know I messed up. Please, give me another chance." Yet, Kellan, a once-disabled tycoon, stood up from his wheelchair, took Allison's hand, and scoffed dismissively, "You think she'll take you back? Dream on."
The whispers said that out of bitter jealousy, Hadley shoved Eric's beloved down the stairs, robbing the unborn child of life. To avenge, Eric forced Hadley abroad and completely cut her off. Years later, she reemerged, and they felt like strangers. When they met again, she was the nightclub's star, with men ready to pay fortunes just to glimpse her elusive performance. Unable to contain himself, Eric blocked her path, asking, "Is this truly how you earn a living now? Why not come back to me?" Hadley's lips curved faintly. "If you’re eager to see me, you’d better join the queue, darling."
Sunlit hours found their affection glimmering, while moonlit nights ignited reckless desire. But when Brandon learned his beloved might last only half a year, he coolly handed Millie divorce papers, murmuring, "This is all for appearances; we'll get married again once she's calmed down." Millie, spine straight and cheeks dry, felt her pulse go hollow. The sham split grew permanent; she quietly ended their unborn child and stepped into a new beginning. Brandon unraveled, his car tearing down the street, unwilling to let go of the woman he'd discarded, pleading for her to look back just once.
I watched my husband sign the papers that would end our marriage while he was busy texting the woman he actually loved. He didn't even glance at the header. He just scribbled the sharp, jagged signature that had signed death warrants for half of New York, tossed the file onto the passenger seat, and tapped his screen again. "Done," he said, his voice devoid of emotion. That was Dante Moretti. The Underboss. A man who could smell a lie from a mile away but couldn't see that his wife had just handed him an annulment decree disguised beneath a stack of mundane logistics reports. For three years, I scrubbed his blood out of his shirts. I saved his family's alliance when his ex, Sofia, ran off with a civilian. In return, he treated me like furniture. He left me in the rain to save Sofia from a broken nail. He left me alone on my birthday to drink champagne on a yacht with her. He even handed me a glass of whiskey—her favorite drink—forgetting that I despised the taste. I was merely a placeholder. A ghost in my own home. So, I stopped waiting. I burned our wedding portrait in the fireplace, left my platinum ring in the ashes, and boarded a one-way flight to San Francisco. I thought I was finally free. I thought I had escaped the cage. But I underestimated Dante. When he finally opened that file weeks later and realized he had signed away his wife without looking, the Reaper didn't accept defeat. He burned down the world to find me, obsessed with reclaiming the woman he had already thrown away.
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