Last, but not least, comes Alaska; even if last to arrive on the map of the Union, yet not least in size of territory or in flowers, and with still another condition of climate to be considered. Alaskan gardens are as yet but tiny modest plots against the gray log cabins, suggesting the homes of our Pilgrim fathers on the milder New England coast so long ago, and as we think of the stone and marble pergolas in modern New England, there comes the suggestion: "Then why not Alaska likewise some day?"

To those who think of Alaska only as a land of snow and ice, descriptions of its flower-surrounded log cabins seem like impossible dreams. Quoting from Reverend Mr. Lumpkin's paper:

"In coming into Alaska, you first awake to the beautiful reality in Skagway. This is the point where the White Pass road is taken to make connection with the river boats for the interior. Your eyes rest upon the wonderful fulfilment of the flowers and your crag-weary soul is refreshed.

"Every growing thing in Alaska seems to exemplify the Alaskan spirit, and that is to make the very best of bad conditions, and to make the very most of the many good ones. With the dark winters and short summers, every ray of sunshine has to be used, and when in the summer the sun shines all day and nearly all night for three months, there is no time for loafing in flower land.

"Just take a walk down through Fairbanks in July and you will begin to think that wonders will never cease. You will see flowers, that at home you had to coax and nurse into growth, here in radiant, luxuriant masses. The Pansies are unusually large, whole borders of them, and paths bordered with beds a foot wide, filled to the edges with changeable velvet. Sweet Peas grow up to the tops of the fences, and then, if no further support is given them, over they go, back to the ground again. All summer the Nasturtiums climb nearer and nearer the roofs of the cabins, and bloom and bloom in sheer delight. Some paths are bordered with Poppies, big stately red and white, and white and pink ones, or the golden California beauties. These natives of warmer climes seem perfectly at home in the Northland. Asters scorn hothouses and grow in profusion wherever they are planted, and wherever they are they are beautiful. They are as large as the Chrysanthemums the Easterner delights in, and of all the various changes of colors. By them, perhaps, will be Dahlias as large and rich as any you have ever seen. The more beauty-loving and flower-loving the owner of the garden, the longer you will stay to look and wonder. Candytuft, Sweet Alyssum, and Mignonette will greet you from their accustomed places on the borders of beds of flowers, and you will almost smile at them as at some old-time friend. Then you will see where some daring gardener has bordered the beds with Phlox or Snapdragon, and you will feel compelled to admire the result.

"Never have I seen such Begonias. The flowers are like Camellias, and the colors exquisite. Shades of pale yellow to deep yellow, pale pink to deep pink, and the pure white. The Geraniums, too, grow to giant size, and seem to be ever-blooming. One really is tempted to feel the stalks of some of them before it can be believed that they are not two plants tied together. There was a Geranium in one of the small towns which filled the window of a store.

"Many cabins have five or more baskets hanging from the eaves. Imagine gray log cabins with birch baskets filled with blue Lobelias; flame-colored Nasturtiums climbing to the roof, beds of velvet Pansies, borders of crimson Poppies leading to the gate, where golden California Poppies make way for you to pass, and beyond, the distant Alaskan mountains, snow-covered and glistening in the sun. Imagine one cabin, and then think of streets of them; change your flower colors as you will, as a child changes his kaleidoscope, and you will have some idea of Alaska flower land."[5]