23 July 2009

Basil, Beets, Cabbage, Cucumbers, Dill, Garlic, Lettuce, Peas, Hot pepper, Scallions, Squash

I am a little worried about our St. Bernard puppy. He seems to have a nice disposition and a real social instinct. Yes, he is still a little nippy, but he has gotten much better and even learned to obey a few simple commands, at least when he has nothing better to do or knows for sure that heeding us will get him a treat. He is attractive and fuzzy and has an endearing ability to chase his tail for quite a long time before getting dizzy and falling over. I think he will make a fine pet.

Which is all well and good, but does he meet the breed standard? It is probably a little early to say. He is all of three months old and roughly a fifth of his adult size. Still, it is best to start assessing his conformation as soon as possible so we know whether or not we are dealing with a worthy representative of the breed. And frankly there is some cause for concern. I cannot help noting a slightly deficient supra-orbital ridge and perhaps some slightly imperfect upper jaw flews. I hate to say it but the way they curve into the lower edge is not as pretty as one might hope. All of which would not be so bad if his tail were more pleasing. I hesitate to speak harshly of one so young and agreeable, but there is no denying that his tail is a smidgen or two—oh well, let’s be honest, three smidgens—shorter than ideal and has a tip that could not really be described accurately as powerful. Mildly vigorous, perhaps, but certainly not powerful. I am sure we will find some way to feel affection for him in the long run, but I fear it will always be tempered by his glaring imperfections.

The fact that those monks up in the Alps never worried about breeding dogs that conformed to some ideal doesn’t matter. Sure they interbred their dogs with Newfoundlands to get long coats and mixed in the genes of various local mutts as needed. But what did they know? They were just trying to come up with animals that could carry out mountain rescues and make good companions during the long winters. That might be good enough for monks, but it is not the sort of behavior that wins you best in show trophies.

Of course, anyone truly concerned with maintaining breed purity would not have time for dogs. Surely we should all be working to raise ideally formed wolves, eschewing the tragic aberrations of wolfness that abound today. Once you accept the idea of different breeds of dogs you accept the idea that living things can change their form. Those monks concocted St. Bernards in relatively short order from locally available mutts and then altered them in various ways a number of times. And then breeders made further alterations, with the result that English St. Bernards have different standards from American ones (for a start, they have to possess a well formed sense of self-deprecating irony).

We seem to understand that things don’t always come true to type. If they did dog shows would be rather pointless affairs (rather than the profoundly meaningful events they are). But we have trouble accepting that this variation is a good thing, a natural force to celebrate rather than a challenge to be overcome. We prefer to know exactly what we are getting—even if what we are getting is reliably bad. Hence, at least in part, the success of McDonalds (it is possible the billions of dollars of advertising and large quantities of fat and salt also contribute to that success).

I don’t mean to deny the value of reliability. I count on the seeds I plant to produce the promised crops. I was less than entirely amused by a batch of Sugar Snap seeds I planted several years ago that produced significant numbers of bad snow pea vines, and I nearly gave up on growing radicchio because the results were so unpredictable.

But it was people playing around with variability who came up with Sugar Snap peas in the first place and developed the new varieties of radicchio that produce a significant percentage of relatively uniform heads. And if that batch of pea seeds had produced vines with positive new traits, such the ability to grow clusters of peas that turn red when ripe, I would have been a fool to ask for my money back because I didn’t get precisely the pea variety I anticipated.

Given what we are doing to the climate, we had better learn to appreciate the ability of living things to vary. If, for instance, this summer’s weather were to become the norm we would either have to give up on all sorts of crops (the eggplants, peppers and tomatoes appear to be completely baffled by the conditions), go to enormous lengths to modify conditions (by, for instance, installing a retractable dome over the farm), or work to develop crops with better tolerance for wet soil and cold nights and an ability to fend off armies of slugs (which are out there right mounting a sluggish blitzkrieg on our bean rows).

I suspect that in the end farmers will have to use all three methods to deal with climate change. But the availability of new varieties suited to whatever weather we end up with will be essential to farm viability. Neither jettisoning products nor making massive investments in infrastructure is by itself—or in combination with the other—feasible unless farm economics change as radically as the climate threatens to. Which seems unlikely. I don’t see any sign of us giving up on our belief in the sacred right to cheap food.

In which case farmers had better have a range of varieties that can thrive with relatively minimal, relatively inexpensive assistance. And that may require some strange alterations to vegetables as we know them right now. But then we have already made pretty significant changes to just about every crop we eat. You don’t find a lot of cauliflowers growing in the wild.

Fortunately, some of our existing crops are finding ways to deal with this odd season. The peas, for instance, apparently like it, the garlic has done quite nicely this year, and we have more cucumbers than we need. So enjoy them while you still recognize them, but try not to get too obsessively attached to their current form. And who knows, maybe that kale-tomato cross and those eggdives will be so delicious that you won’t believe you could ever have eaten anything else.