Norwich bulletin., 1913-07-07
THE TRANSPORTATION OF
 AN ABANDONED FARM Beautiful Country Home of Gilbert D.
 Lamb in Franklin.

Following the hospitality of Gilbert 1 D. Lamb <of New York at his sum-
 mer home in Franklin, which has been l transformed from an abandoned farm 1 into a bower of beauty John Foster 1 Carr writes as follows to the Bulletin | concerning it:
 I As the old Lebanon road from Yan- l tic winds over a great hill about half
 a mile from Franklin station. you l come upon a tiny cottage on a bit of
 well shaved lawn, under an old maple. | Then, behind a blaze of ramblers, | climbing over a square set stone wall, 1 covering gateways of cedar boughs, | you have glimpses for just a moment | of an old white house half hidden in 1 liIacs and woodbine. Then up the road i there are a high hedge of liiacs, and | tiger lilies close under long line of i privet untrimmed a mass now of i creamy feathery flowers
 I You would hardly guess what 1 wonder of simple beauty these hedges
 conceal. It is Beech Spring, an aban- ! doned farm transformed within three 1 years. It stands so hoSpitably open to
 anyone who cares for flowers and l birds and the loveliness of nature that l the old brass knocker could neither | be seen nor used on the never closed l door. and so has been fixed invitingly
 on the door jamb
 l It is a welcoming old place with added vine covered porches, and shows l what comfort and beauty in living can 1 be elaborated out of simple, old-fash- 1 toner things. Every room has it's great | stone fireplace and in cool greyS and | buffs and blues each has a charm it's 1 own. Ray carpets never seemed so l ecorative-oId-fash chairs so | comfortable.
 But the life is outside the house and
 among the flowers. Hedges and vines 1 of a hundred kinds-hy ydrangeas, bridal 1 wreath. spirea, bitter sweet, honey suckle, wisteria-form courts with rus | tic benches. Here Easter lilies stand out white against dark green shadows.
 There is an old fashioned garden, open to the sun. with it's bed of sweet will 1 liam. ragged robin, wild roses, iris, pansies, daisies. heliotrope. sweet peas.
 and the dial in the center greets you with bantering philosophy: My face ! marks the sunny hours"
 Everything has been done to attract the birds. Cats have relentlessIy been driven away. a stone water bowl was set in the garden, mulberry trees planted nests of every conceivable size and sort put in places to win the little feathered home-seekers. And
 now-for it is still early July-won- derful are the morning concerts All day long the air is filled with the trills of song sparrows, the military trum-
 pet notes of robins, the lovely song of the catbird. broken by his harsh
 
 of the bob white. Wrens dash from tree to hedge. humming birds flash in the honeysuckle. The woods are full of orioles and thrushes and at night down under the hi1l the whippoorwilI laments the tragedy of boyhood. Full letters could be written of the woods. the lawns behind the houses, the broad meadows spreading over the hill the revel and luxury of the old fashioned kitchen garden, with it's Txra1 T. f1o Af lat
 But two memories stand out from a, visit to Beech Spring
 First of course. there is the spring itself, hidden in a Wierd pocket just under the hill. Walled and roofed like a shrine the clear depths of it's we'll show in finest detail the grey rock of walls and bottom, show all the depth | as clearly as if the water were molten glass, molten crystal It is a dark and shaded spot arched over by huge beeches. standing gigantically pictur- esque the sidden slope of the hill The rushing water of the spring spills into miniature lake. on which float lfltes-whfte, pink golden. At twilight with darSentng shades, the wierd out lines of twisted trees cedar shelters Japanese bridges. huge open fireplace 1 like an altar. grow grotesque. Frogs croak, some hoarsely, some meIodious- ly. Bats fit, It is a place for witching and incantatfons wierd certainly as lIic ddIQoI OI IduSuIOS. buE III the blaze and heat of these July days it is cool and lovely, There Is deep shade everywhere. Woods and vines dense
 as a tropio jungle, border the little lake. paradise for favored boys to splash in the clear water between the lilies.
 But wonder of wonders at Beech Springs are the roses There are roses 1 everywhere. tumbling over walls
 climbing trellises and roofs and arbors i archtng over gateways-roses. roses. wild roses, Japanese roses thousand beauties, roses old fashioned roses new fashioned roses beyond all cata- loguing. Best of all there are the ram blers in airy sprays lying along slopes
 of hedges, dropping over branched administrations crimson ramblers heaped and punched in heavy bou- quets. passionately glowing against the dark shadows of locustS and naples arching over doorways. burying porches.
 For supreme sight. set at the side of a great lawn unbroken by tree or shrub or flower, is a splendid arbor nearly three hundred feet long, deck ed throughout it's wondrous length with amending masses of delicate pink sprays of Dorothy Perkins loveliest of ramblers, now hiding, jealously mask ing, the Japanese clen3atis that all Au- gust and September will cover the great framework. But now these ram bleps the1r dainty sprays or pink del- icately fairly massed with the feath- cry green of the new branches wave through over the cedar boughs of the arbor in its long perspective. No flow CT of the rose world lasts so long. It Is freed from the fate of Rousard's rose, the rose of the world, whose life endures but the space of a morning nd here fer nearly fortnight more the gfeFy of these ramblers will remain fer the delight of all whe care te come and see