Heritage Seeds
Euan McIntyre
The vegetable equivalent of animal conservation work, to grow heritage varieties is to be part of our deep agricultural history, and help to keep it alive.
"Don’t judge each day by the harvest you reap, but by the seeds you sow."- Robert Louis Stevenson
Heritage vegetable seeds are sometimes also called heirlooms, which always makes me think of some awful vase, or ornament that may have been passed down through generations of the same family. An eyesore that must tarnish the unfortunate bearers mantelpiece, purely because it belonged to their great, great grandmother. Heirloom generally refers to ‘valuable objects that have belonged to a family for generations,’ whereas the definition of heritage falls closer to ‘inheritance’. Not strictly limited to possessions, knowledge can also be inherited - That’s how I prefer to think of heritage seeds. Varieties that are tied in with ancient wisdom, and practices that have remained unchanged for hundreds of years. Sure seeds can be physically inherited, but this has no impact or significance without knowing why they’re more important than that £1.99 pack of seeds you bought from Dobies.
North Ronaldsay is the furthermost northern island of the Orkney archipelago. Not the largest, or the most populated, but what makes North Ronaldsay unique is it’s unusual breed of sheep that are native to the island. Descended from the Northern European short-tailed sheep, they may have arrived on North Ronaldsay as early as the Iron Age. This would make them potentially the earliest sheep to arrive in Britain. Since the early 19th century, the flocks have been feral, left to fend for themselves along the shore, thanks to a drystone dyke constructed by the locals after the collapse of the kelping industry. Farmlands on the island were re-shuffled and re-organised, in order to provide employment for the men who were previously employed in kelping. The dyke was built to keep the sheep away from these reassigned fields, to stop them eating crops, to save the good grazing for the more profitable cattle, and breeding with the new sheep being brought over from the mainland. This means that for hundreds of years, unable to interbreed with any other sheep, the North Ronaldsay flocks have remained completely unchanged. Their genetic makeup is exactly as it was hundreds of years ago. This is what makes a heritage variety, or in this case, breed. Vegetables are constantly being crossbred to try and produce a ‘super variety’, which will crop heavily and for a long period, is resistant to all disease and can survive extreme temperatures. These varieties are known as hybrids. They might sound good on paper, but what is sacrificed in a lot of cases is taste. Taste, and the encouragement of biodiversity.
Picture this - A farmer has a field full of one variety of cauliflower, let's say ‘Goodman’. They prepare the ground, all of the seed is sown at the same time, then in September, they have thousands of lovely big caulis. These are all picked, packed and sent to the supermarket. The farmer makes a tasty profit, the ground can be re-ploughed, and the whole process can start all over again. The trouble is, when the farmer does this, they form what’s known as a monoculture. A monoculture can be very effective for our farmer - it’s less work, the crops can be harvested by machine because they’re all a uniform size and shape, and they don’t have to worry about diseases like verticillium wilt, which Goodman is resistant to. However what’s good for the farmer, is unfortunately not very good for everyone else. By having a field full of one type of plant, beneficial insects that may have had a healthy symbiotic relationship with other plants, won’t be present. In turn, neither will other larger insects that feed on the smaller ones. Gardens are an ecosystem, and like any ecosystem, the absence of one specific link in the chain can have a knock on effect, leading to a biological desert. When our farmer gazes over his field of lush, green cauliflowers with pride, he’s looking at a ghost town.
At the Fhior kitchen garden, we decided that quality over quantity was the way to go. I could have rows and rows of the same, reliable variety, and Fhior would have an abundance of the crop, but this would be at the expense of flavour and the gardens ecosystem. It also means that vegetables are ready to use more intermittently, rather than all at once, resulting in a steady supply of crops, rather than the all or nothing approach that a monoculture produces. Not only do heritage varieties encourage gardeners to plant more diversely (heritage varieties are more susceptible to disease, so to avoid entire crops being wiped out by an outbreak, more than one variety is sown) they also provide more interesting flavours to work with once they have made their way to the kitchen. For examples sake, ‘Black from Tula’ is a tomato variety I’ll be growing for Fhior this year. The taste is supposedly “salty and smoky”. Thought you knew what a tomato tasted like? Think again.
Growing heritage veg doesn’t always have a happy ending. In a previous post about Kale, I touched briefly on a heritage variety that I grew in the Fhior garden last year, that ended up being a bit of a culinary challenge - Shetland kale. Shetland kale was very much not the obvious choice. There are countless other varieties available that will bend easier to a chef’s will. But kitchen gardening should contain a degree of trial and error. The aim for Fhior garden is to be a veg patch not full of produce that is readily available everywhere, but full of varieties that taste better than common hybrid varieties, benefit insects and other wildlife, and reflect Scotland's heritage and culture. Heritage varieties like Shetland kale can sometimes be disappointing but that will not always be the case. Fhior aim to provide people with the chance to try varieties that are not grown commercially. More often than not, this is to do with disease resistance and a small yield, not flavour. Meaning that the seeds commonly sold in garden centres across the country will be reliable and will supply you with a decent crop - but may taste relatively bland. The heritage varieties are more challenging to grow, yes. And the gamble doesn’t always pay off. But when they do, the reward is exciting, rediscovered flavours combined with modern day cooking techniques, resulting in brand new cuisine unlike any other restaurant experience. If that isn’t worth the risk I don’t know what is.
In the interest of fairness, growing heritage varieties on a large scale has its difficulties. A field full of different plants must be harvested by hand, which is obviously labour intensive and time consuming. However small scale farming with heritage vegetables can be done, it just takes a bit more effort from the shopper, to make sure that we are supporting small scale farmers, who want to make sure that they don’t decimate their land by carrying out micro-level deforestation. With a little more consciousness from all parties involved, we can practice agriculture in an eco-friendly, earth-loving, history-preserving way. Peace and love, man.
