A few years ago, I grew an heirloom vegetable garden filled with varieties that would have been grown in America in the late 1800s. My scarecrow, Millie, oversaw the garden. The wheelbarrow contains much produce from that garden.
heirloom
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Seeds are a link to the past. Immigrants smuggled them into this country in the lining of their suitcases, under the bands of their hats, and in the hems of their dresses. The Germans brought cabbages, the Italians paste tomatoes, and the Mexicans their beloved chiles. According to Kent Whealy, director of the Seed Savers Exchange (an organization dedicated to saving old vegetable varieties), from the time of the Mayflower to that of the boat people, many of our heirloom seeds have entered the country in just this way.
The home gardens in which these seeds were grown a hundred years ago differed greatly from home gardens today. For one thing, the varieties themselves were notably diverse—for example, there were high-shouldered tomatoes (whose tops protrude above the stems), purple broccoli, and huge, dense beets. Even within varieties, the produce was much less uniform than what we’re used to. But an even more fundamental difference relates to the seeds themselves: when planting time came, gardeners took seeds not from commercial packages but from jars in closets where the seeds had been stored from the previous year’s harvest. Gardeners in the olden days used the seeds of their own open-pollinated plants—varieties capable of reproducing themselves.
The seed catalog is from the late 1800s as are the bean varieties.
By the 1930s, commercially marketed seeds of many new varieties were becoming increasingly available to home gardeners. Many new hybrids proved to be more vigorous, uniform, and widely adaptable than some of the open-pollinated varieties, and the public accepted them enthusiastically. However, people could not save the hybrid seeds to plant the next year. To produce a hybrid variety, a breeder crosses two varieties or even two species of plants. But like the mule—a cross between a donkey and a horse—hybrids cannot reproduce themselves, so the seed companies must repeat the crossing process every year.
Commercially produced varieties streamlined the home garden, simplifying planting and standardizing produce, but in the process, old, open-pollinated varieties cultivated for generations disappeared. Some horticulturalists estimate that thousands of plant varieties have been lost forever.
For the better part of the past fifty years, American gardeners have favored many of these commercial varieties and hybrids, but change is in the air. Gardeners are by no means forsaking them, and no one is denying that the heavy production and uniformity of some hybrids make them appealing, but many old, open-pollinated varieties are drawing attention. Diversity in all its glory is coming to be valued anew. Against the backdrop of ever spreading monocultures—huge single-variety crops—the old varieties show their unusual shapes, colors, and sizes to great advantage. Gardeners and cooks have rediscovered small yellow plum tomatoes, blue cornmeal, and rich yellow fingerling potatoes. Restaurants use orange tomatoes in their salads and ‘Dragon Langerie’ beans—yellow romano beans with maroon lace markings—for a splash of the unusual on their appetizer plates.
Collectively, these plants are known as heirloom varieties—varieties “of special value handed on from one generation to another,” as Webster’s defines the word heirloom. More specifically, most seed people agree that the term applies to any open-pollinated variety that is more than fifty years old.
Some gardeners are primarily interested in the taste of the heirloom varieties, the ‘Bonny Best’ tomato, for example. Other gardeners enjoy the novelty of heirlooms and like to amuse the family by serving ‘Mortgage Lifter’ tomatoes, ‘Ruth Bible’ beans, and ‘Howling Mob’ corn or to arrive at a Fourth of July picnic with red, white, and blue potato salad made with regular potatoes and blue and red heirloom potatoes. Still others appreciate the historical connections—the ‘Mayflower’ beans or ‘Mandan Bride’ corn, for instance, or a lettuce variety brought to this country by a great-great-grandmother.
Vegetables are not the only endangered cultured plants, the old flower varieties are in trouble too. I planted many of them in my heirloom vegetable garden including the species white zinnias, calliopsis, and gloriosa daisies.
Another view of my heirloom garden shows more of the old flowers and the chicken coop. It includes the single, tall, cream Peruvian and single species white zinnias; tansy, with its fernlike foliage in the foreground; strawberry gomphrena; tall status; species yellow marigolds; and a magenta plume celosia from Monticello.
I have been gardening and cooking with unusual varieties for as long as I can remember. Over the years, that especially tasty corn variety, that unusual-colored bean, and those vegetables with offbeat names pleased my soul, and I sought them out. But my interest was really piqued almost twenty years ago at a conference on seed saving. I met other heirloom-variety gardeners who gave me a different slant on the subject. Many had been drawn to these vegetables and fruits initially by their novelty and taste but soon became concerned—as I did—about a more global issue: the erosion of the vast gene pool of vegetables.
To stay in existence, plant varieties must be grown and kept growing. Our bank of irreplaceable vegetables from which future breeds will draw has shrunk alarmingly.
It’s critical that we now focus on this erosion and start to rebuild the endangered stock. The U.S. government and the seed companies are cooperating to save some varieties in storage facilities, but the bulk of the vegetable-seed-saving effort rests with the home gardener. Fortunately, reversing the trend does not require sacrifice. Instead, as this book attests, it can be a fascinating adventure both in the garden and at the table.
No matter what draws you to the preservation effort, it’s only fair to mention a few caveats. Many heirloom vegetables have been selected and maintained to match old-fashioned cooking and storage methods. From a modern standpoint, this often means using “stringy” string beans that have a great “beany” flavor or huge “keeper” carrots that, while they are a bit unwieldy to store and cook, are incomparable roasted in the embers of a fire or baked. Of course, part of the great fascination is preparing dishes that are rich in taste and color as well as represent a slice of living history.
Heirlooms are the focus of this book and make an exciting, even absorbing, theme garden by themselves. But my research and my own gardening experience have shown me that the venerable old varieties have a place in any garden. Growing an heirloom garden is a way to focus on these treasures, but the true place of heirloom vegetables is wherever gardens grow.
how to grow an heirloom garden
Heirloom varieties are not necessarily rare. You probably already grow a number of them—for example, ‘Kentucky Wonder’ beans, ‘Black Beauty’ eggplant, ‘Pearson’ tomatoes, and ‘Yellow Crookneck’ squash are all heirlooms. You could fill a garden completely with common heirlooms, but my purpose here is to explore the uncommon and even unique possibilities of an heirloom garden. By growing an heirloom garden you can have the fun of growing unusual and tasty vegetables, keep alive the less common varieties, and learn how to save some of your own seeds.
Choosing and Obtaining Heirlooms
Let’s look at how to choose and obtain some of the rarer varieties. Read through An Encyclopedia of Heirloom Vegetables (page 21) for descriptions of various varieties and then choose a handful that appeal to you. To keep things simple, choose only six to eight varieties to start with.