Portage River Farm

A few weeks ago, I spent an evening on the web ordering seed catalogs. They are finally starting to pour in and I have a nice little stack started. I know, I know. I should use the online versions or download the catalogs to my computer. I will be better next year, I promise!

There is just nothing better to chase away mid-winter blues than to curl up with seed catalogs and begin to dream of spring planting. There are so many strange and exotic varieties to choose from. Of course, because of my organic certification ambitions, I will need to set aside all of the catalogs that offer chemically treated or genetically modified seeds.

I have to admit a long-held bias against hybrid varieties and a nostalgia for heirlooms. I look to my Appalachian grandparents as examples of truly skilled gardeners. To this day I can remember the smell of the room over their garage that was used for the winter storage of their seed stock from the previous year. It contained baskets of dried pods, shelled seed corn, seed potatoes and trays of dried pumpkin and tomato seeds. From the rafters they hung "leather breeches", dried bean pods strung on string.

I can also remember the taste of those vegetables at suppertime, especially the corn and green beans. Grandpa and grandma were the descendants of pioneer stock who had lived in those steep valleys from the time of the founding of the Northwest Territories. Many of the varieties that they grew in their huge garden were handed down from their ancestors and preserved through all of those years as particular favorites of the family. Today, I wonder if those varieties have become extinct as the older generations died out or whether they live on in some neighbor's garden, faithfully renewed and preserved with each season.

Realistically, I don't feel that I have the skill to begin with that level of discipline. I'll just have to file the seed saving idea away for now as an aspiration for the future.