This is an archived article that was published on sltrib.com in 2011, and information in the article may be outdated. It is provided only for personal research purposes and may not be reprinted.
Some girls relish the "just for me" time spent curled up with a good catalog. Your secret pleasure might be clothing, camping gear or cookware. Mine, I confess, is seeds.
I can't wait for the bleak mid-winter day when the first seed catalog blooms inside my mailbox. Oh, the tickle in my taste buds when I spy the plump red tomato or radiant peck of peppers gleaming on the cover. I handle my catalog with the kind of care reserved for fragile heirlooms — after all, this baby is full of them!
The possibility within these pages is priceless. Heirloom fruits and vegetable seeds have been passed down through the ages, acquiring succulent flavor, abundant nutrients and natural disease resistance, as well as countless stories that have flourished among generations of gardeners. To grow an heirloom is to connect with a history that is lush with honest work, joy, tears, hope, family and sustenance. It's all there, waiting to unfurl the moment I open my seed catalog.
With a little luck, I'll have a couple of spare moments — make that hours — to slip away and start dreaming of spring. I'll brew a pot of tea and gather a favorite quilt to snuggle in. I'll need a trusty pen — I've been known to run out of ink circling seeds I'd love to sow. It doesn't matter that I'll never grow all of the goodies that catch my eye. This ritual is about romance.
With a seed catalogue, I might be whisked away to the sun-drizzled hills of Tuscany where, for two centuries, the ruffled leaves of the Nero Di Toscana cabbage have been harvested to flavor savory stews simmering in Italian kitchens. Then, with the turn of a page, it's northwest to 19th century France, where I can just imagine a wide-eyed child cradling a deep-orange Rouge Vif d'Etampes pumpkin that she has discovered at a market in Paris. And, to think, I could grow these treasures, too!
I am not getting all caught up in romantic notions of garden glories and forgetting details like dirty fingernails, aching muscles and weeding. I assure you, I know the fine print by heart. After all, there is scarcely a growing season since I was born that I wasn't tending crops. For me, the gritty realities of gardening are simply part of the love affair.
In the quiet stillness of nature's "off season," I crave the scent of raw earth on my hands and long for the July sun on my shoulders as I hoe persistent weeds.
These cues reassure me that my time is being spent well. And I can hardly express how precious it is to hear the laughter of my granddaughters as they help me dig, plant and pick throughout the summer. Just as my garden thrives each year, so shall my grandchildren flourish with a passion for growing their own food.
For now, though, I am thoroughly content to daydream of crisp cukes, crunchy carrots and more zucchini than I can give away. My seed catalog reverie is not unlike any other sweetheart's romance — it makes my heart flutter, it makes me smile. Best of all, it fills me with the most incredible sensation of hope that fantastic things to come.
If you're a gardener, the ground I'm covering is certainly familiar territory. I suspect you, too, have felt the sparks fly when your seed catalog arrives. But if you're new to gardening, I hope to spark your interest. Just how good can homegrown be? You'll have to try it to know for sure, but I promise the experience — from seed catalog to kitchen table — is nothing short of delectable.
MaryJane Butters is the editor of MaryJanesFarm magazine. E-mail her at everydayorganic@maryjanesfarm.com.