Tomatoes, perfectly shaped and blemish-free, have skins like carapaces. Apples with bite and beans with snap have almost disappeared. Pretty but bland bloomers have replaced sweet-smelling flowers. But now, something else is sprouting. More and more gardeners are discovering the pleasures of “heirloom” fruits, vegetables and flowers - old varieties that had been nearly plowed under by the exigencies of agribusiness. For years, small groups of gardeners kept endangered varieties alive by collecting and swapping their seeds. Recently, word of their work has spread. “We receive easily 100 letters a day,” says Kent Whealy of Seed Savers Exchange in Decorah, Iowa. “Ten years ago we received none.” Last year Whealy received a MacArthur Foundation “genius” grant and this spring saw the movement really blossom: two mainstream catalog outfits, Gardener’s Supply Co. and Smith & Hawken, began selling heirloom seeds.
Heirlooms are the living equivalent of grandfather clocks and granny’s quilts, with names as rich and varied as their flavor. From Howling Mob corn (so called because turn-of-the-century diners in Toledo, Ohio, howled for more) to Ice Cream watermelons, from Coach Dog beans to Mortgage Lifter tomatoes, they are earthy reminders of a heritage we almost lost.
Our great-grandparents raised fruits and vegetables for flavor and nutrition, not for uniformity and the ability to grow anywhere or to travel 3,000 miles without bruising - precisely those properties that appeal to agribusiness. Large farms want produce that fit standardized containers. They want crops that will grow as easily in South Dakota as Carolina and ripen simultaneously so that mechanical reapers can harvest them all at once. They need thick-skinned produce that will weather long trips to the market. (Furthermore, it’s cheaper to produce 1,000 acres of one seed than 25 acres of 40 varieties which must also be separated to prevent cross-pollination.) In the commercial world, heirlooms don’t make it. Like most heirlooms, Olympic Flame tomatoes - rose red, streaked with gold - survive only in certain climates. And, says Renee Shepherd of Shepherd’s Garden Seeds in Felton, Calif., “you can’t ship them 10 feet.” De Cicco, an old European broccoli, was one of the most flavorful that Andy Lee, who runs a 20-acre cooperative farm in Burlington, Vt., grew last year. But, he says, “you can’t pack it neatly into bushels. Some of the heads are the size of softballs and others the size of soccer balls.”
Large seed companies, catering to agribusiness, have devoted themselves to hybridization. But that has led to the loss of regional variations and an array of distinctive tastes. According to Seed Savers Exchange, 90 percent of food crops grown at the turn of the century are no longer available commercially. Just as you can now buy the same hamburger anywhere in the United States, so can you buy (and plant) the same carrot, though, in fact, 9,000 varieties exist, in hues ranging from purple to white. “Hybrids are easier to grow, but they did to American agriculture what McDonald’s did to American cuisine,” says Shepherd Ogden of The Cook’s Garden in Londonderry, Vt. Hybrids are also more profitable. Unlike heirlooms, they are patented, and their seeds cannot be reused
The boom in antique plants also includes flowers. By far the most popular are roses, passed down not through seeds but through cuttings. Thomas Christopher, author of “In Search of Lost Roses,” thinks gardeners are bored with mass-produced hydrids. “They basically look alike and they have very little scent,” he says. Old roses, however, have rich perfumes and “range from modest little discs of five petals to giant powder puffs.” In a deracinated society, what better way to explore our roots than by cultivating what our ancestors did? “You protect biodiversity,” says Nancy Fay of Seeds of Change in Santa Fe, N.M., “and you get a great salad out of it at the same time.”
Mary, Mary, not so wary, Her garden is different today With Hungarian Broom And Old Blush a-bloom (A corn and a rose) on display.
