Indulge me for a moment. Read over this passage taken from the July 9, 1853 issue of the New England Farmer:
"All things have their uses. The flowers not only please the eye but improve the thoughts, making them more gentle and better. The full blown rose, expanded to its utmost limits, and shedding its fragrance on all within its reach, seems emblematic of a good heart, beaming forth its kind influences on all around. If the flowers could think, and feel, and talk, what lessons of gentleness and love would they teach us. All children love them; the old man leaning on his staff, pauses by the wayside and contemplates them with delight. A vase of fresh flowers in the sick room stands as an emblem of the new life that will come when the tried spirit shall bloom with perennial lustre in the skies."
Wow. That's some heavy stuff, even for this flower lovin' Heirloom Orchardist. We could pick the passage apart, and question whether flowers actually do make our thoughts "more gentle and better." But that's missing the point. Beauty and sentimentality have their places, even for the practical Heirloom Orchardist.
Let it go. Enjoy. The above images come from my small collection of antique nursery catalogs. I've included links with each image to appropriate pages of the Nature Hills Nursery web site. Since July and August are typically slow months for plant sales, Now is a great time to get some good deals. Indulge yourself. It could make your thoughts "more gentle and better."
"Something stinks in here" said my wife, peering into the cupboard. She removed a bag of soft, partially rotten (but sprouting) potatoes. Carefully cupping her hand beneath the the bag to be sure nothing dripped on the floor, she passed it to me and suggested that I "Please bring these to the compost heap right now."
There's something very humble about a potato. Very simple and unassuming. Very practical. The Heirloom Orchardist likes that. So, as I walked toward the compost heap, I inspected those little sprouts emerging from the potato "eyes," and detoured to the garden. Hmm...look at my rotten potatoes now:
In the days of the Heirloom Orchardist, crop yield was very important. The Heirloom Orchardist wanted to grow as many potatoes as possible, with the least amount of effort. And after harvest, the Heirloom Orchardist wanted to use or sell most of the potatoes he grew. That's why potato "eyes" were important to him. Potato eyes? Yes, those little buds on the tuber, where the new growth originates. In the early 19th century, it was common for entire potatoes to be planted to start the new season's crop. But then it was found that one needs to plant only a single eye, carefully cut from the potato, to get a new plant to grow. From then on, the Heirloom Orchardist could sell or use the vast majority of his crop, and still have plenty "seed potatoes" for next year.
Those who grow potatoes today, may be surprised by this. It may seem intuitive that one needs to plant only a portion of a potato in order to get a new plant; providing that portion includes at least one eye. Hmmm...certainly anyone who saw my partially rotten potatoes (before they went in the ground), would realize this. But to the Heirloom Orchardist, this was not intuitive. A Mr. Jonathan Talcott of Rome, New York made specific reference to the novel "one-eye system" in his letter to the editors of the The Cultivator and Country Gentleman, published on January 17, 1884:
"I believe it is 26 years this coming spring that I sent my first order for seed potatoes, and that was to Gerald Howatt, for Prince Albert. Ever since that time I have been an admirer of Mr. Howatt's writings on the subject of potato culture. When Mr. Howatt says he originated the one-eye system, I have no doubt he is sincerely honest in his belief. I also know that the system was practiced by my grandfather in 1783, in the town of Glastonbury, Connecticut."
But all this may make the process of growing potatoes sound much more technical than it is. Believe me, potatoes are easy. Particularly if you're not very concerned about getting the maximum yield. This is how you can grow them: Just stick a few in some loosened soil and stand back.
Tucked behind my coldframe, next to a haphazard patch of peonies (used for cutting), is my clump of rhubarb. I don’t know what variety it is, but I don’t care (although the green leaf stems narrow down the possibilities). This rhubarb came with my property, so it could be generations old. That’s enough for this orchardist to consider my plant an heirloom.
When I found the rhubarb, it was a small worn-out patch surrounded by tall overgrown saplings. So, I dug up the old spindly clump, and moved it. The method I used to transplant my heirloom rhubarb is the same method prescribed by “Dr. Bevan” in the August 4, 1832 issue of The Genesee Farmer:
“appropriate a square yard of soil to each plant - remove a cubic yard of earth - fill up the pit thus made with well rolled stable manure, treading it closely down - cover the same with a mound of earth, consisting of the soil which has been removed - and place a single offset of rhubarb in the centre of it; the crown of the offset, (which requires to have very little root attached to it,) should be two or three inches below the surface. The business should be performed very early in the year; and if severe weather supervenes, a covering of raw stable manure should be laid over the mound.”
The colonists brought rhubarb to the states, but it seems as though it wasn’t as ubiquitous as other "fruit." It arrived rather late. In his famous instructive booklet “The American Gardener” William Cobbett stated as late as 1821: “This is one of the capital articles of the garden, though I have never seen it in America”. Rhubarb is easy. All you need to know, is that it loves to feed. It'll flourish in sun and organics. Of course it's always been that way, so Dr. Bevan’s 1832 method of planting rhubarb was not new or innovative 170 years ago, and it certainly isn't today: Dig a large hole...Fill the hole with “well rolled stable manure” (or compost)...Tuck the root in the center of the compost...and watch the rhubarb grow. Then start planning those heirloom strawberry rhubarb pies.
We have been told that when new and exciting economic opportunities are presented, the scammers thrive. This has always been the case, and it was no different in the mid 1800’s, when Hovey’s Strawberry Seedling (See June 12, “An Heirloom Strawberry?”) suddenly created a profitable strawberry industry in the New World. Recently, I stumbled upon this inconspicuous notice in an August 9, 1851 issue of the New England Farmer:
“Newland’s Strawberry Humbug A few years since, George Newland, from Palmyra, N.Y., was in this region, and sold plants of what he called a new seedling strawberry, under the pompous name of "Newland's Celebrated Mammoth Alpine Strawberry." A large number of cultivators purchased plants, gave them a fair trial, and condemned them as worthless. They were the old wood strawberry, or something very nearly resembling it. So the whole affair proved to be a great humbug. This being known, Newland left this region, and has been operating in parts where he and his strawberry were not so well known. We see by a late number of the Pennsylvania Farm Journal, the editor has received a present of some vines from Newland's agent, and before waiting to give them a trial he is commending them to the public; thus aiding this impostor in deceiving the farming community. We think notice should be given of this imposition throughout the country, in order to put a stop to the operations of this great impostor. Editors should check rather than aid him.”
It seems that in a time when new strawberry varieties were being rapidly introduced, George Newland decided to jump into the frothy excitement, and rip off the Heirloom Orchardist. He was the nurseryman's version of a snake oil salesman. I find it interesting that 19 years later (in 1870), when J.M. Merrick, Jr. published his thorough manual entitled “The Strawberry and its Culture” he decided to recognize Newland’s variety, even though it was just a hoax. In his “Descriptive List of all Known (strawberry) Varieties,” Merrick states: “Newland’s Mammoth Alpine: Brought forward some years ago as a great acquisition. Now unheard of, and probably nothing but the Old Red Alpine.”
Today, there’s little chance that you and I will be scammed into growing a worthless strawberry variety. But as I’ve stated before, I think we’ll do well by sticking with 20th century introductions. Here’s a couple more that I recommend:
Surecrop:
If your grandparents (or parents) grew strawberries, it’s likely they grew Surecrop. It was developed by the USDA, and released in 1956. Among strawberry enthusiasts Surecrop is considered a reliable heirloom. For over 50 years, growers have been saying you’ll be guaranteed a "Surecrop" if you grow this high yielding, June-bearing berry. It’s self pollinating, a great canner, and freezes well too. Surecrop has a resistance to red stele and verticillium wilt, leaf spot, and leaf scorch.
Honeoye:
Another June-bearer, Honeoye was developed by the USDA in New York, and released in 1979. It quickly became a favorite, due to its pronounced sweet aroma and bright, glossy red color. It’s a beautiful berry. Plants are extremely winter hardy. A good freezer. This is a another great strawberry that you’re likely to have grown-up with. Honeoye is not susceptible to grey mold and mildew, but it can get some root and crown diseases, if not grown in light sandy soil.
Incidentally, MasterGardening.com has a beautiful Strawberry Barrel Planter available at 13% off the list price. You can munch on strawberries, while riding over the falls.
Are there any heirloom strawberries? Sure, you may find old varieties being grown at historic garden institutions throughout the country. But they may be hard to obtain through the retail market.
The more pressing question is whether a contemporary Heirloom Orchardist would really want to grow an old strawberry variety. The old ones are of questionable quality by today’s standards. Although it’s generally agreed that the strawberry is one of the most important New-World small fruits, the nice, plump, fragrant and juicy berries that signal summer to all of us, haven’t been around for very long
In the beginning, a strawberry was either the tiny, poorly bearing (but tasty) meadow strawberry (Fragaria virginiana) from North America, or the large tasteless berry (Fragaria chiloensis) from the pacific coast of South America. These two species crossed (either deliberately, or by chance), and the offspring provided the parentage to the cultivated berry we know today. But it wasn’t until the famous 19th century plant breeder, Charles Hovey, developed a couple distinctive varieties in the 1830’s. One of these, "The Hovey" (or “Hovey’s Seedling” ), stuck. And it ushered in the start of the strawberry industry.
But, "The Hovey" had its limitations. Here’s a passage I’ve found in my tattered issue of the New England Farmer and Boston Rambler, dated June 7, 1851:
“Hovey’s Seedling is the largest of all strawberries, and of good quality, selling high in market. It yields very largely under favorable circumstances, but the plants are much less vigorous and hardy than the Early Virginia, and much pains is necessary to have a good set of plants; and if a large crop be obtained the first year after planting, there is usually a deficiency the next year, from exhaustion, or deficiency of plants. These two plants are cultivated more than all others in New England. But other new and promising varieties are claiming trial.”
And new varieties have been “claiming trial” ever since. If you are interested in the novelty of growing old heirloom varieties, by all means reach into your network of heirloom enthusiasts, and have someone send you a runner from one of the old varieties. But this Heirloom Orchardist just doesn’t put heirloom strawberries into the same category as other heirloom fruit. They were frustrating to grow, and not as reliably tasty as our contemporary ones. Try these instead:
Fort Laramie: This is a cold-hardy, productive, everbearing strawberry. It was developed by the US Department of Agriculture, and released in 1973. It is extremely winter hardy. It even seems to survive in Alaska, but this is not recommended since Alaska’s long days inhibit fruit production. When it was released, the USDA issued this statement:
"Fruit of Fort Laramie is large in size, bright scarlet-red in color, and firm fleshed in areas with cool nights. Fruit may become somewhat soft in areas with warm nights or if overripe. Yield is very high. Berries are attractive, being round-conic in shape. Interior color is pink to scarlet. Flavor is characteristically strawberry, aromatic, sweet and pleasant. Skin is medium to firm with yellow seed set at the surface level."
Quinault: Quinault is another everbearing variety, developed by Washington State University. This strawberry can be grown as far north as Alaska and the Pacific Northwest. It’s so eager to set berries, that it’ll produce them on unrooted runners. This Heirloom Orchardist has found it will even do well in containers. It’s self pollinating, and the fruit can be ready to eat in just 4 to 5 weeks after planting. Large berries. Even Charles Hovey would have been impressed.
Do you consider clover a nuisance weed? The Heirloom Orchardist didn’t. Although the nitrogen-fixing property of legumes (clover is a legume) was not understood by early orchardists, the benefit it brought to soil fertility was well known:
“The ordinary rotation in most parts of the Union is corn, oats, rye or wheat with clover. In order to secure the enriching properties of clover, even in this rotation, it is said to be profitable to sow the clover with a view of turning it under for rye, or wheat, in the fall. The expense of seed is but trifling when compared with the benefits resulting from the pasture thus afforded.” The Yankee Farmer, July 6, 1835.
Of course, many of us don’t grow fields of corn, oats, rye or wheat. So how can we take advantage of clover’s enriching properties? Well, it’s easy: we can allow it to grow amongst the grasses in our lawn. But first, we need to change our perception of clover, back to the way we perceived it several decades ago; as a valuable component to any healthy lawn. Back to before the successful marketing efforts of the Scotts Company turned clover into a noxious weed.
Yup, that's right. The primary reason that clover is generally considered a lawn weed today is simply because we were told it was a lawn weed…by the Scotts Company.
Would you like some supportive documentation? Here’s a passage from my 1875 edition of Gardening for Pleasure:
“When the lawn is too extensive to be sodded, the following mixture of grass seed may be used, which we have found to make an excellent lawn: 8 quarts Rhode Island Bent Grass 3 quarts Creeping Bent Grass 10 quarts Red Top Grass 10 quarts Kentucky Blue Grass 1 quart White Clover"
Or, you may consider this statement from a 1906 USDA Farmers’ Bulletin (No. 248), appropriately entitled “The Lawn”:
“Upon soils of a lighter character…, in localities where precipitation is greater, such grasses as redtop, Rhode Island bent-grass, and white clover are more to be relied upon for lawn making than bluegrass.”
So what does Scotts have to do with changing clover from a desirable component of turfgrass, into a weed?
In the 1950’s, having known that the weed killer known as 2,4-D (2,4-Dichlorophenoxyacetic acid) was affective against broadleaf “weeds” (such as dandelions) but not against grasses, Scotts accurately predicted the stuff could be a very profitable product to sell to suburban lawn enthusiasts. The trouble was that it killed clover too. So rather than going back to the laboratory, they went to their marketing department. They changed public opinion. Presto. Clover is a weed.
But I'm not beating up on Scotts here. They've got a good product. I use their "Super Turf Builder with Plus 2 Weed Control" product on my own lawn. I just don't broadcast it everywhere, the way they prescribe on the back of the package. I walk about my lawn, judiciously sprinkling the stuff by hand on the target areas, mostly where dandelions may have taken hold. It's an Integrated Pest Management (IPM) approach. This Heirloom Orchardist doesn't have many weeds in his lawn. But I've got lots of enriching white clover.
When seeding your lawn, either with or without clover, consider a hand-held seeder spreader from MasterGardening.com.
" product on my own lawn. I just don't broadcast it everywhere, the way they prescribe on the back of the package. I walk about my lawn, judiciously sprinkling the stuff by hand on the target areas, mostly where dandelions may have taken hold. It's an Integrated Pest Management (IPM) approach. This Heirloom Orchardist doesn't have many weeds in his lawn. But I've got lots of enriching white clover.
