At the end of last year, my mailbox filled with seed catalogs. And I, like every veggie grower I know, delighted in perusing the bright colors and optimistic descriptions during long dark wintry evenings. Dreaming of the summer abundance is a time-tested winter survival technique employed by thousands of gardeners and farmers living in cold climates.
If I gave a thought to where all those seeds came from, it was only in passing, as I was much more interested in which varieties I would plant this year. Not once did it occur to me that I could be one of the people supplying those seeds!
As long as I’ve grown flowers, herbs, and vegetables, I’ve saved seed. But not skillfully, with intent to maintain the purity of a variety, and not for any seed requiring in-depth knowledge or extra work to harvest. My haphazard strategy has been more like: “Whoops, my lettuce bolted! Guess I’ll save that seed.” Or, “Oh, I accidentally missed harvesting some peas. Well, if I wait ‘til the pods dry I can save the seed.”
This past Spring I heard about the Northeast Seed Production Course offered by a collaboration of Cornell Cooperative Extension educators, experienced seed producers, and regional seed companies. I excitedly enrolled, seeking to level up my seed-saving skills. Not only did the course provide training in the many details of seed production, but organizers matched every participant with mentors for their chosen crops, and even secured buyers for anyone wishing to sell their seed crop this fall.
Seed is not simply an economic commodity, but a carrier of cultural traditions, foodways, and stories. Therefore, course organizers were very intentional in including perspectives from seedkeepers from the Onondaga Nation Farm, Akwesasne Intertribal Agricultural Council, and Sistah Seeds to help budding seed-savers understand that there is so much more to growing seeds than isolation distances, disease management, and yield per bed-foot.
I’ve committed to saving three different types of cucurbit (squash family) seeds this year, mostly because I’ve never tried to save wet-seeded crops before (i.e. those whose seeds are harvested from within a wet fruit, as opposed to being ready for harvest once dried). I have farmed at Shelterbelt for 13 years, but raising lambs, beef, laying hens, and fruit trees does little to provide a foundation of knowledge for an aspiring seed-saver. One of the things I love most about farming is how impossible it is to get bored, because there is always more to know. So off I went again, wading into almost completely foreign territory, grateful and happy to have such knowledgeable mentors leading me along the way.
I sometimes hear the phrase “gone to seed” used as a derogatory way to describe a person or place that is past its prime. I much prefer the way I’ve heard indigenous seed keepers talk about seed. Angela Ferguson, manager of the Onondaga Nation Farm, says that her people treat seed as their children, giving them the same level of care, love and attention you’d extend to a small human.
It’s time we reclaim the expression “gone to seed” as a positive one: of life reproducing itself, of the incredible abundance of Earth. I look forward to when my gardens have gone to seed this year!
Shelterbelt Farm 