History of a literary radical, and other essaysBourne, Randolph Silliman
General
History of a literary radical, and other essays
Bourne, Randolph Silliman
American essays -- 20th century
If you went on beyond the barn you came to a clump of currant and
gooseberry bushes which ran out in a thin line to the fence, which by
this time had lost its rose-bushes and become a prickly tangle of
blackberries. Enclosed by the blackberries and the currants was the
broad expanse of the vegetable garden, with corn in summer that Gilbert
could get quite lost in, and an amazing variety of good vegetables to
eat. The vegetable garden ran up to Uncle Marcus’s barn and his garden.
Straight down back of Garna’s house, through the middle of the yard,
ran a path, part way through a grape-arbor of its own, and then past
the currant bushes. At the end of the garden it joined a path in Uncle
Marcus’s yard. Along the foot of the path, where it passed the garden,
was a row of rhubarb, and on the other side Aunt Nan’s sweet-peas,
which she planted every spring. On the other side of the path was an
open meadow where the grass was not cut, and where Gilbert sometimes
lay on cool summer days and looked up at great white clouds floating
past in the blue sky. Nearer the house you came to a wilderness of
fruit-trees, pears of all kinds and apples, and as you approached the
street the yard broke into flower-beds and shrubs and bushes. Close to
the house grew lilies-of-the-valley, and a curious ribbon-grass which
Aunt Nan could take between her fingers and blow shrill whistles on.
Along the path which went past the dining-room window were beds of pink
and white peonies and tall white lilies which had a smell so sweet that
Gilbert felt almost faint when he touched them. And along the whole
side of the yard was a beautiful japonica hedge, with its white and
red flowers in the spring, which turned into sweetly smelling green
balls in the summer. There were great maples interspersed in the hedge
that threw down their keys in the spring. And all along the front of
the yard, close to the house, ran a white wooden fence just within
which was a line of graceful black-walnut trees, with their thin green
clustered leaves and the green nuts which fell in heaps on the ground.
Aunt Nan and Gilbert would collect them in sacks and put them in the
barn. There they would grow all black, so that you could strip off the
covering and find the crinkled nutshell within. Then you cracked them
on a stone.
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