Blogging the big birthday: Beans and selection

Given that he wrote an entire book on The Variation of Animals and Plants Under Domestication, Charles Darwin offers us a rich seam to mine. ((Made easier by the existence of Darwin online.)) I was particularly struck by a phrase I thought I heard Professor Steve Jones use in the recent special series of In Our Time on BBC Radio 4, when he referred to Darwin’s garden at Down House as, I think, the Galapagos of Bromley. His point was that Darwin’s experimental work and observations in his garden informed his ideas no less than his journey.

There is a good deal in The Variation … about how plants change in their characteristics, from presumed differences among the maize varieties of New England and Canada to the northward progress by “thirty leagues” of the northern limit to growing maize in Europe, over a period of about 60 years. “[I]n Sweden,” Darwin writes, “tobacco raised from home-grown seed ripens its seed a month sooner and is less liable to miscarry than plants raised from foreign seed.”

These, and many others, are typical of the observations of others that Darwin accumulated and scrupulously credited. But he made his own observations too.

On the same day of the month [24 May], but in the year 1864, there was a severe frost in Kent, and two rows of scarlet-runners (P. multiflorus ((These days Phaseolus coccineus.))) in my garden, containing 390 plants of the same age and equally exposed, were all blackened and killed except about a dozen plants. In an adjoining row of “Fulmer’s dwarf bean” (P. vulgaris), one single plant escaped. A still more severe frost occurred four days afterwards, and of the dozen plants which had previously escaped only three survived; these were not taller or more vigorous than the other young plants, but they escaped completely, with not even the tips of their leaves browned. It was impossible to behold these three plants, with their blackened, withered, and dead brethren all round them, and not see at a glance that they differed widely in constitutional power of resisting frost.

Darwin doesn’t there make the point that the survivors of such a killing frost might give rise to more frost-hardy offspring in due course. And I have not been able to discover whether he asked his gardeners to save seeds from those that had survived. I like to think he did. In The Origin (p 142) he very clearly anticipated such an experiment:

[U]ntil some one will sow, during a score of generations, his kidney-beans so early that a very large proportion are destroyed by frost, and then collect seed from the few survivors, with care to prevent accidental crosses, and then again get seed from these seedlings, with the same precautions, the experiment cannot be said to have been even tried. Nor let it be supposed that no differences in the constitution of seedling kidney-beans ever appear, for an account has been published how much more hardy some seedlings appeared to be than others.

This last may be a reference to a sharp frost on the night of May 24th, 1836, near Salisbury, when “all the French beans (Phaseolus vulgaris) in a bed were killed except about one in thirty”.

There is much, much more in The Variation … to amuse and instruct anyone with an interest in agricultural biodiversity. What I find odd is that despite the prevalence of seed saving in mid-Victorian England, Darwin was not able to prove to his own satisfaction that the beans of his own era were in fact hardier than those of previous times. Today’s scientifically informed seed savers ought to find it easy. Have they?

Carciofo alla Etrusca?

Last Sunday’s outing to Cerveteri and its Etruscan necropolis included a visit to the town’s small museum. Where we saw the following terracotta figurine:
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The piece wasn’t labeled, and I had to take the photograph at a weird angle through glass, so the quality is not great. But that looks like an artichoke to me, or maybe a cardoon. Unfortunately I wasn’t able to find much on the internet about the Etruscans and the artichoke, but they definitely had it. And it is still a big crop in the region. But I’m just not entirely certain. What do you think?

Blogging the big birthday: A taste of things to come

Tomorrow we will be celebrating the 200th birthday of Charles Darwin. Here’s a little foretaste:

gallesiobis.jpg Gallesio gives a curious account of the naturalisation of the Orange in Italy. During many centuries the sweet orange was propagated exclusively by grafts, and so often suffered from frosts that it required protection. After the severe frost of 1709, and more especially after that of 1763, so many trees were destroyed that seedlings from the sweet orange were raised, and, to the surprise of the inhabitants, their fruit was found to be sweet. The trees thus raised were larger, more productive, and hardier than the former kinds; and seedlings are now continually raised. Hence Gallesio concludes that much more was effected for the naturalisation of the orange in Italy by the accidental production of new kinds during a period of about sixty years, than had been effected by grafting old varieties during many ages. I may add that Risso describes some Portuguese varieties of the orange as extremely sensitive to cold, and as much tenderer than certain other varieties.

From The Variation of Animals and Plants Under Domestication (1868, p 308)

And in an astonishing display of the power of Google, Serendip, and my dodgy memory, the same Gallesio (seen above) chronicled the Citrangolo di Bizzarria, noted by Luigi almost two weeks ago.

Nibbles: Bananas, Sorghum, Agave, Big vs small, Cauliflower, Wine, Chestnut, Farmers’ rights, India, Aquaculture, Medicinals, Tarpan

Corn thoughts

The idea that maize and man co-opted one another in pursuit of world domination is not as new as some people seem to think. I’m reading “Corn and Capitalism: How a Botanical Bastard Grew to Global Dominance” by Arturo Warman, translated by Nancy Westrate. The original Spanish edition dates to 1988 and the translation to 2003, and although some bits have undoubtedly been updated the one over-riding impression I have so far is that all indicators of corn’s global dominance are probably now even greater than they are in the book. But that’s not why I am blogging.

Rather, I am puzzled by a reference on page 7 to a crop of American origin called sesame. That brought me up short. Sesame, Sesamum indicum, is almost certainly Indian in origin. Fortunately, Warman, or Westrate, gives a Latin name, Amaranthus cruentus, and says that it is known as Alegria, or “joy”. That makes more sense. A. cruentus is one of the three amaranth species grown for its grain, which admittedly does look a little like sesame seed. And it is the one often known in English as red amaranth, for the flower (and flour?) colour of a group of varieties that was, apparently, used as an element of ritual throughout the Americas. It represented blood, and that may have been the reason colonial religious nuts attempted to ban its cultivation and use. ((“Communion wine is completely different, you dolt.”))

Is there, then, some reason why Warman and Westrate refer to it as sesame? A Spanish word, perhaps?

All this is especially interesting in view of later paragraphs dedicated to the original domestication site of corn, Old World or New. ((It is hard to realize that this was once a subject of discussion.)) Part of the evidence that scholars adduced in support of an Old World origin was linguistic, names such as Egyptian sorghum, Syrian grain, grain from Mecca, Indian wheat, Spanish wheat, Portuguese grain and, here in Italy, Gran Turco. What all of these have in common is the notion that maize comes from somewhere else, often self-contradictory, but that was enough to send Old World supporters into a frenzy. They simply could not bring themselves to believe that such a wonderful plant had been domesticated by the lowly creatures of the Americas.

And speaking of names, it came as another shock to learn that Teosinte, the ancestor of maize, gets its name from a Nahuatl word for “corn of the gods”. How many other foods of the gods are there, I wonder?