Still life with flowery feet and seed catalogs
There are those who look forward to Christmas…and those who impatiently wait for it to be over, over, over. Because about a week later, the seed catalogs start showing up.
My mailbox grew icicles on the lid this week. That didn’t stop my greedy little hand from reaching inside, even with the threat of having it impaled. By the end of the month, I'll have foot-high stacks of catalogs spilling off every chair in my middle room. All read cover to cover, most marked up, some with order forms ripped out, filled out, and sent in. (And then, of course, recycled.) If you’ve developed the same addiction, you know what I’m talking about. Unfortunately for me, I developed this habit at an early age—I remember being awed by the pictures in my Dad’s Burpee catalog: steroidal marigolds, tomatoes, babies leaned up against giant pumpkins—and that awe has never left me.
Some people, like my dad, still stick with Burpee, though the current trend is for heirloom and open-pollinated seeds. For a while, I was an OP purist, until I read Steve Solomon’s Gardening When it Counts, which is probably the best book on gardening I have ever read. Solomon founded Territorial Seed Company (he sold it back in the 1980s), and his take is that you should use what works. “Anti-hybridists accuse seed companies of intentionally making hybrids that fail to produce any seed, trapping the customer into buying more seed the next year,” he writes. “Is that true? Like most such issues, the answer is 'yes and no'…It is normal practice for amateur plant breeders to use commercial hybrids as starting platforms to breed new OP varieties.” He adds that “it is true that on average that modern hybrids are not the same nutritious, fine-flavored vegetables that the old OP ones were. But it is also true that the OP varieties developed since 1870 are not either. And, alas, it is true that much of what passes for ‘heirloom’ OP varieties these days is really just the commercial varieties used before World War II or relatively modern commercial varieties that have been misnamed by unethical primary growers producing cheap garden seed.”
Gardening When it Counts is written under the premise that the world will experience some sort of collapse in the coming years—and it may—so his aim is to help novice gardeners avoid stupid mistakes in case their lives literally depend on growing potatoes and lettuce. Whether or not you agree with that,this book can still help anyone become a better gardener, even if their pantry is full of Oreos. Solomon (who, by the way, maintains an awesome open-source, online library of books on “radical agriculture,” at soilandhealth.org), recommends buying from Dave’s Garden, Fedco, Landreth, Lockhart Seeds, Nichols Garden Nursery, Peaceful Valley Farm Supply, Renee’s Seeds, and Select. Last year, The New York Times quizzed bloggers, master gardeners and horticulturists for their favorites (“Packets Full of Miracles”); that crew also mentioned Fedco, as well as Seed Savers, Hudson Valley Seed Library, and Seeds of Change.
Veronica, the coordinator at my neighborhood community garden, won’t use anything but Johnny’s Seeds (and after spending a season there, I can see why she feels that way). Local master gardeners have recommended Johnny’s to me as well. They’ve also mentioned High Mowing, Stokes and Southern Exposure. My neighbor Seitu, who is a master gardener if ever there was one, loves to grow herbs; he orders his seeds from Horizon Herbs.
Me, I’m partial to Baker Creek Heirloom Seeds, partly because it’s based out of the Missouri Ozarks. Jere Gettle was only 17 when he sent out his first catalog 10 years ago. Now, he and his wife Emily have built a veritable compound down in Mansfield that’s dedicated to preserving not just plant varieties, but Ozark lifeways. Their newest project is a “seed bank,” in Petaluma, Ca.—they’re very political about preserving OP seeds and genetic diversity—and they just have the grooviest seed packets around. Last year, on the advice of the Homegrown Evolution blog, I also ordered from Franchi Seeds, a company that’s been doing business in Bergamo, Italy since 1783. I tried their lettuces, Aubergine Violetta eggplant, and a Pomodoro tomato (those plants produced through November, even though it wasn’t hot enough for the fruits to ripen).
Another find last year was Sand Hill Preservation Center, whose catalog has yet to arrive for 2011. The company is owned and operated by a couple in Iowa, Glenn and Linda Drowns. Like the Gettles, the Drowns are concerned about preservation of species; it’s a mom-and-pop with a mission, and their catalog, while devoid of glossy pictures, is informative and actually very fun to read. (Glenn Drowns is very opinionated, and somewhat grumpy.) I also ordered flowers from Botanical Interests, including the “Fairy Meadow” mix (which did germinate, but probably needed more sun), and the “Funny Valentine,” cypress vine, which I planted around mammoth sunflowers (seed form Sand Hill), so they could climb up the stalks.
This year, I’m extremely excited about one catalog in particular: J.L. Hudson’s Ethnobotanical Catalog of Seeds. I actually stumbled across it in an odd place—the Arthur Magazine blog, where I usually go to read about books and music. The first paragraph of the post grabbed me right by my collar: "Compared with artists’ books, mimeograph-era poetry rags, record-nerd fanzines, silkscreen and letterpress ephemera, a seed catalog may seem to be the least covetable of printed matter. But the J.L. Hudson Ethnobotanical Catalog of Seeds surely belongs within that cultural niche. It must be the only seed catalog that has simultaneously appeal to those with a taste for fine printed works, radical politics, early Natural History, botany and gardening practices." It is indeed a beautiful, meticulously assembled little thing. Inside, it looks like a Petite Larousse, with botanical engravings and plants listed by their proper names (example: "HEMEROCALLIS (he-mer-o-KAL-is). LILLACEAE. 'DAYLILY.' Hardy, free-flowering tuberous rooted Eurasian perennials prized for their showy bloom.")
I think the phrase “ethnobotanical,” alarms the post office, because the little paper seal has been torn both times the catalog (an old 2010, a new 2011), has landed in my mailbox. The company is celebrating its 100th anniversary this year; the current proprietor has been running the business for 38. He lives off-the-grid in California, and tells readers of his catalog: "I HAVE NO BUSINESS OR PERSONAL TELEPHONE. Please do not call anyone named Hudson who is listed in the La Honda directory, as you will only disturb someone not connected with me. I do my web work off-site as we are off the grid. 'If your 'phone doesn't ring, its me!' —J.L.H. WE ARE NOT SET UP TO RECEIVE VISITORS." Quite mysterious, quite lovely. I'm taking a long time filling out my order form, lingering over the choices, trying to take the advice printed on the cover: "Don't order what you don't need." Of course, when you're wading through an avalanche of seed catalogs, that can be the hardest thing in the world to do.
