Preservation through Dissemination
In which our entrenched author spends a lot of time thumbing through seed catalogs in order to escape life's bleak reality, as is customary this time in January
It has been an uneventful week here at Fox Holler Farmstead. Or maybe it has been fairly eventful. To be honest, I don't have a good barometer for what constitutes eventfullness anymore. This past week or so has been evented, how about that?
The weather has been unseasonably warm here, for the time being. Our cow, Sugar, continues to belch and bellow about the loafing yard, her belly swaying with calf. She is due this Sunday, but it could be anyone’s guess. Hopefully, the weather will hold for a smooth delivery. I had to euthanize a broken-legged goat, and did the respectful work of preserving his flesh for extra nutrition. Having taken the “wait and see” approach to lame or ailing livestock, I am confident this was the best and most humane option for all involved. This is the reality of raising livestock. We must contend with the dead stock as well. Does it get easier to kill animals? Well yes, to a point, and I think it best to always come back from that point, and retain some level of empathy and tenderness. Especially with animals I know I will be harvesting for meat. There is no room for callousness in this work, but a sense of humor sometimes helps.
It has been my intention to regularly journal for the benefit of this almanac in the evenings, but I am often exhausted and overstimulated by the time I come around to it, and so that hasn't happened. As time passes and we enter this second week of January, those of us who have set some goals for the new year are probably aware of what is or isn't sticking. And then come the justifications, but I will spare you these.
I have begun site work on some new tree plantings. I have pushed through some necessary butchering work. And I took the first few steps in committing to continue gardening, including sitting down and getting some seeds ordered. And that is maybe where I'll begin today.
In the doldrum days of winter when all but a few spare patches of chickweed spot the ochre landscape here in Northeast Missouri, it can be of consolation to crack into this year's arrival of seed catalogs, dust off and inventory my existing collection, and fantasize about the growing season. In comparison to years past, we do not have as many vegetables in storage as is typical; mostly a couple hundred pounds of squash, a bit of sweet potato, some dehydrated greens and okra, maybe some daikon radish, and a few jars of tomato. I won't get scurvy or anything, but the heart does yearn for fresh live vegetable matter. And that is the exact fantasy that seed catalogs offer.
First of all, as a person who has made this mistake in the past, I would like to impress upon you the importance of being sure you actually have prepared space to plant your seeds before you take the credit card out. I imagine that I may take the time to discuss the ins and outs of garden planning in some future installment of the almanac, but for now I'll just say that some special varieties end up sold out early, and I suspect that some of those seeds don't really end up in the soil at all. I'm still reeling from the past two years' canning jar shortage spurred on by the pandemic-era interest in self-sufficiency. How's that going, by the way? Are we all free, well-fed and sovereign yet? Maybe that's more of a group project.
Anyhow, seed catalogs. I admit to being a voracious consumer of seed catalogs, and have been since well before I had land access. For a lot of folks, myself included, the world of possibilities outlined in these things are not only a consolation in the gray days of winter, they spark hope for abundance in the days of depleted sunlight. The fantasy may be incongruous with the reality of smashing hundreds of squash bugs on steamy summer mornings, but soon enough I’ll come to remember how fun gardening really is. Alongside a few key books we kept on the shelf at Northwind Natural Foods Co-op (my last job, 11-12 years ago) I found that browsing seed catalogs during the long blank stretches of my work day helped to form a plan for the life I am living today. Have I been led astray at times? Yes, but these enticing annual volumes still bring a lot of promise to otherwise bleak January days. This is the liminal time for vegetable growers here in the temperate northern hemisphere. A time to reflect on what did or didn't work in our gardens, and to make adjustments and try new things going forward, and I'm going to lay out a few observations on some of the more prominent catalogs in my stack, perhaps dispensing a bit of advice along the way. This is by no means a definitive list of catalogs worth looking at, and as always, climate, location, and praxis all bear relevance on where you get your seeds. Perhaps most important is to see what your neighbors have had success with.
So this isn’t gardening advice, or even seed purchasing advice. Just some thoughts I’ve been having about the physical catalogs.
Let's begin our exploration with the most pornographic of all seed catalogs, Baker Creek. I order from Baker Creek most every year, even though I suspect they might be taking advantage of me a bit. I won't outright dog on my fellow Missourians too much, they offer quality seeds with a high germination rate, and they've done much to popularize heirloom varieties and keep them relevant and in circulation, but they're… a bit glitzy. I don't think I'll be damaging their livelihoods much by pointing this out, they seem to be doing well for themselves. I do think they could produce a cheaper catalog, maybe cut the photography budget a bit and get more seeds out into the world at a lower price. I don't know how the business actually functions, its just a sneaking suspicion. The main thing to be aware of with Baker Creek, as you're thumbing through colorful spreads of vibrant purple beans, crimson pods of okra, and cosmic orange carrots is that this is a visually oriented catalog. Read the descriptions thoroughly, and if the flavor isn't mentioned, there may be a reason for that. Not all home grown produce tastes good. Sometimes, it's schwag.
Baker Creek also does this thing where they prominently feature their own children alongside remarkably large vegetables. Between this optical sleight of hand and some of the clear and obvious photo editing, Baker Creek is very similar to a Denny's menu, designed for the inebriated consumer to impulsively point to the Moons over My-Hammy, non-verbally, only to awaken in confusion when their platter is finally brought to the table. This is how I feel sometime later when my seeds arrive and I have no idea why I wanted what I purchased. And when Baker Creek gives you a seed count for a packet of seeds, you'd better believe you won't be getting one seed extra, especially on those $4 packets. They have a handful of freaky specialty crops... gargantuan gourds, obscure nightshades with insipid flavors, striking, colorful beans that taste a bit like dirt. Sometimes, rare varieties are rare for a reason is all I'm saying. Still, the seeds are of high quality, and they're a fine source for that open-pollinated heirloom that you yourself would like to save and improve for years to come. Again, I like the products they provide, I'm behind the mission of their work which is to make rare seeds accessible to the masses, and I admit to secretly enjoying the lurid photoshoots. I just can't help but think that the catalog is a bit, well orchestrated, for my tastes. And having given over hundreds of dollars to Baker Creek over the years, I feel like it is okay to point out one more thing: this catalog is very human centric, in an unnerving way. There are plenty of photogenic, human models aiding in displaying the produce throughout. And some of them have this sort of blank, glassy-eyed stare. I dunno, maybe that's just me. The important thing to know when it comes to the Baker Creek catalog is that not all of their varieties are presented in the paper version, but can be found on their website. My favorite okra, Burmese isn't usually featured, I guess because it's normal and green and they need to make room for all the oddities and children holding yard long carrots. They usually ship for free and throw in some "gift seeds" that I didn't ask for. Orders are promptly filled, and their online catalog has a weird customer review section that can mostly be ignored. It's like the Yahoo Answers of the seed world. To my knowledge, their complete offerings are open-pollinated and therefore can be saved and improved upon.
One hundred eighty degrees opposite of Baker Creek is the JL Hudson catalog. While Baker Creek's catalog comes off like the swimsuit issue of Sports Illustrated, the JL Hudson catalog is like a combination of some arcane convenience store sale paper and a backwoods manifesto anonymously mailed right to your door. It is a finely textured and colorless pamphlet that makes for some A-grade bum wipe, and the interspersed quotes from Thomas Paine, George Orwell, Gandhi, and Groucho Marx add an unhinged sort of flavor that makes me think I've found my people. JL Hudson is not marketing to anyone. It is a public access seed bank. It is a catalog for seekers, not consumers. Do you need access to a rare wild plant that you're unable to reliably source anywhere else, plus the proper chemicals to aid in germination? Check these folks out. The best part is their opening, page long, oddly punctuated statement of purpose. JL Hudson has, if nothing else, a lot of integrity. And a lot of seeds, organized by Latin name. Over the years of exploring their catalogs I have been able to brush up on my botany terms if nothing else, and so this catalog serves as an educational resource as well.
All of their customer data is held on a computer in a discreet, off-grid location with no internet access. If you have a question, you must submit your full name and address in your email. There is no phone. Best of all, for all the pages and pages of, honestly, lunatic ravings contained in their print catalog and on their wonderful geocities-era website, there is a bit of self-aware humor mixed in as well. JL Hudson is either an organization, a real human, or an alias shrouded in mystery. The annual updates in their catalog sometimes make reference to Ms. Calkins, but we are left to wonder if there's a Mr. Calkins, or what. I strongly suspect that their seeds are located in a bomb shelter, and between this susupicion and their deep efforts to catalog and preserve a diverse range of genetic materials, they combine the ideology of the squirrel who maintains a cache of seeds for harder times ahead, and the cockroach who emerges onto the nuclear wasteland.
Perhaps most intriguing is that as a public access seed bank you can actually collect and share seeds with these folks for credit or trade. JL Hudson is like Noah's Arc for plant genetics, organized and maintained by a shadowy Luddite curmudgeon, and their mere existence is likely a boon to the planet, so long as other folks take it upon themselves to continue stewarding these genetic resources into use. If you are in need of education, entertainment, rare seeds or top quality toilet paper, give their catalog a try.
Southern Exposure Seed Exchange is a great resource for the committed gardener, particularly those residing in hot humid climates. They do some excellent work with southern crops like okra, collards, cowpeas and sweet potato. I look to Southern Exposure for crops that are usually quick to bolt in our climate, like lettuce. They also have a focus on disease resistance, which next to flavor is probably the biggest thing I'm interested in when it comes to garden crops. They have even instituted a letter code for various disease resistances throughout the catalog, a feature that I try to take full advantage of. And I mean this in the best way possible, but these people are clearly freaks. Having known a handful of folks who have worked with them over the years, I can confirm, but its really the artwork that pushes this point to the forefront. Every year the cover features some combination of gnomes and toads doing weird stuff with vegetables.
SESE was founded back in the 1980's by Jeff McCormack as a way to collect and preserve important seed varieties, in particular those which were uniquely suited to organic production. It came to include other growers and seed savers, and eventually become a communally owned and operated business at Acorn Community Farm in Mineral, Virginia. Today it stands as a functioning example of a cooperatively operated, community based business that is doing active good in the world of sustainable agriculture. They have an intriguing model, and offer an excellent opportunity for like-minded seed growers to contribute.
Beyond the gnomes and toads, the SESE catalog itself has a lot to recommend for it. There is, of course, the key to disease resistance which can be very helpful. Many or most of the varieties carry along some information in regards to the original sourcing, and SESE actively works with growers on genetic improvement. Many historic varieties are preserved here, and the brief snippets can be fascinating. Most varieties are open-pollinated, but they do carry a handful of hybrids. In a world full of hybrid seeds, I'd like to think that if SESE recommends a handful of them to growers, they may well be worth it, even if they can't self-replicate. Seeds are sold by increments of weight, which can be helpful for scaling your crop. It is a color catalog, but it isn't glossy, for what it's worth. If you order from SESE, there's a good chance that your order was packed by an unwashed communist. 10/10 would recommend.
And then there's Johnny's. While I'm personally most interested in open-pollinated seeds, Johnny's, as a production oriented seed company, tends to focus on hybrids. Different strokes for different folks. Whatever floats your boat, or finds your lost remote, as they say. When I learn that somebody orders from Johnny's, I develop an opinion on them, which probably isn't fair. But something about the catalog, about the way the information is presented in Johnny's makes me think that 1) this person has showered very recently and 2) they probably fold their underwear very neatly as well. It's fine, Johnny's just has an anal retentive vibe. Johnny's has a lot of table, grids, graphs and codes in it. The descriptions are concise. Johnny's is an intricate machine, producing uniform orders of seeds that you will likely need to purchase year after year. They are not packed and shipped by unwashed communists. Johnny's is for people that cannot live with uncertainty. They're probably good people, and they produce a fine product, and I'm sure I'll get some flack for this, but the whole catalog is just soulless to me. The back catalog has some neat hand tools, most of them appropriate for bare soil gardening, if you're into that sort of thing, you control freak. An awesome resource for professionals and people who need things a bit spelled out. I'm not bad mouthing it, just not my cup of tea. Not the sort of catalog that keeps me on the couch.
In my world, seed catalogs are very much an escapist form of entertainment for the land-based person in wintertime. And while Johnny's will describe every fact you need to make a decision, I enjoy the challenge of reading between the lines in a variety description, or learning about the cultural importance of some bean or pepper. Johnny's is a bit clinical, but maybe that's why I haven't broken even on produce yet. Spreadsheets and well folded underpants, that’s what I need.
And so there's a lot more regionally specific seed companies with their own unique catalogs out there, folks like Seed Saver's Exchange, or Morgan County Seeds. I've had bad luck with Fedco, but I'll give them the benefit of the doubt that they're best suited to New England, which I am not. Happy to discuss it more in person. Fun artwork in the Fedco catalog by the way, so as a piece of literature, it holds up. I could do a whole other piece on nursery catalogs, but I'll save it for the time being.
The fact is, when attempting to keep at it every year with this work, it’s nice to have a few seed catalogs around to inspire us, motivate us, to keep us trying. I think they serve a vital role in the homestead year, and so if you haven’t already, now is the time to thumb through a stack and feel that excitement and anticipation that will most certainly give way to exhaustion and dread come August. Seed catalogs are one of our simple pleasures, an escape from today that is grounded in the probability of another season out in the garden. And while I wouldn’t give this advice in regards to livestock, or even trees, its okay to over-commit in the realm of ordering seeds. Most of us can’t even hear the screams of thirsty, neglected, and failing vegetables. If it gives you enough excitement to look forward to this year, then do it.
Yours in daydream tomatoes,
BB
Okay, a quick bit of housekeeping here for the Almanac… first off, much appreciation for your readership and interest. I have received a little bit of feedback and some very nice and interesting emails from some of you. I wish that I had the time in my day to respond to them all regularly, and hope to set aside more time in my life to do this in future. Thanks for understanding that I currently have lots of work on my plate and limits to my attention. A handful of folks have even pledged payments for if/when I decide to accept money for this work. I imagine that the money might help me prioritize writing a bit more, and I will make a payment option available and obvious once I feel confident that I can consistently commit to writing. Sort of a chicken and egg thing. The good news is that I do have a long list of seasonal topics developing, and I’ll do my best to chip away at them on a more or less weekly basis. If there’s anything in my field of experience that you’d like to hear more about, be it my opinion on one thing or another, etc… feel free to reach out with your suggestion. I may not respond to your email right away, but I do read and enjoy reading everything I’m sent. Or at least I have so far.