This obliteration of private boundaries is an instance. Our public
spirit and out imperturbability are flattered by it, but our gardens,
except among the rich, have become American by ceasing to be gardens.
I have a neighbor who every year plants a garden of annuals. He has no
fence, but two of his neighbors have each a setter dog. These dogs are
rarely confined. One morning I saw him put in the seed of his lovely
annuals and leave his smoothly raked beds already a pleasant show and a
prophecy of delight while yet without a spray of green. An hour later I
saw those two setter dogs wrestling and sprawling around in joyous
circles all over those garden beds. "Gay, guiltless pair!" What is one
to do in such a case, in a land where everybody is expected to take
everything good-naturedly, and where a fence is sign of a sour temper?
Of course he can do as others do, and have no garden. But to have no
garden is a distinct poverty in a householder's life, whether he knows
it or not, and--suppose he very much wants a garden?
They were the well-to-do who began this abolition movement against
enclosures and I have an idea it never would have had a beginning had
there prevailed generally, democratically, among us a sentiment for real
gardening, and a knowledge of its practical principles; for with this
sentiment and knowledge we should have had that sweet experience of
outdoor privacy for lack of which we lose one of the noblest charms of
home.
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