The field and garden vegetables of America : containing full descriptions of nearly eleven hundred species and varieties

The Story

The narrative of this volume is not one of characters in conflict, but of the systematic exploration of the vegetable kingdom as it existed in the mid-nineteenth century. It begins with the premise that the American gardener, whether a novice or a seasoned professional, lacks a comprehensive, centralized authority to navigate the staggering variety of produce available for cultivation. The text sets out to fill this gap, moving methodically through the vegetable beds of the era, from the common to the obscure. It functions as a seasonal journey, starting with the foundational staples of the kitchen garden and expanding outward into the specialized, the experimental, and the purely ornamental.

As the text progresses, the reader is introduced to the familiar—potatoes, corn, and beans—not as monolithic categories, but as vast, diverse families. The "story" here is one of constant flux and human selection. We see how a variety once hailed as the pinnacle of quality, such as the White Chenango potato, experiences a slow decline, succumbing to disease and losing its favor to newer, more vigorous seedlings. The narrative arc of each vegetable is defined by its rise in popularity, its peak of utility, and its eventual displacement. Through these descriptions, the book charts the history of regional taste and the shifting demands of the marketplace.

The focus then shifts to the technical reality of the garden. The text moves from the categorization of varieties to the practicalities of soil, climate, and labor. We learn of the specialized needs of asparagus—the meticulous trenching required and the specific, salt-impregnated soils that encourage its growth. The narrative voice remains constant: objective, observational, and deeply grounded in the physical reality of the earth. It details the struggle against environmental factors, such as the mildew that plagues the pea, and records the various human attempts to mitigate these issues, from traditional watering to the application of sulfur.

The middle chapters expand the scope to the exotic and the forgotten. Here, the reader encounters the Chufa, or Earth Almond, an immigrant plant from the south of Europe that challenges the gardener with its rapid, persistent spread. We are introduced to the Snail Trefoil, named for its curious, coiled pods that mimic a creature in motion, and the Chinese Pak-Chöi, a harbinger of global botanical exchange. This section of the book serves as a bridge between the traditional New England garden and the wider world, illustrating the constant effort to adapt foreign species to local climates.

As the work nears its conclusion, the tone becomes increasingly focused on the preservation of knowledge. The descriptions become more taxonomical, listing the many forms of tomatoes, from the globe-shaped Apple-tomato to the solid, pear-shaped Fig-tomato. The narrative effectively maps the limits of the garden, acknowledging that many varieties are local, fleeting, or "nominal"—names without distinct features. It accepts that the list can never be truly complete, as the nature of gardening is one of constant, incremental change.

The final segments address the medicinal and herbal uses of plants that have largely receded from the modern dinner table. The Scurvy-grass and the various species of Wormwood are treated with the same precision as the most popular bean or corn. The book ends not with a grand resolution, but with a comprehensive index—a practical tool that solidifies its purpose as a reference. It closes the circle by providing the reader with the means to navigate the vast array of information it has presented, leaving the work as an open-ended invitation for the gardener to explore, experiment, and continue the cycle of cultivation that the author so carefully documents.

The People

The individuals mentioned within these pages are not protagonists in the literary sense, but rather the voices of authority and the subjects of the author’s research. They represent the collective wisdom of an era.

• Fearing Burr, Jr.: The author and architect of this compilation. He is driven by a desire to bring order to the "scattered and fragmentary" horticultural knowledge of his time, acting as an impartial observer who values utility and accuracy above all else.
• Albert Fearing: The dedicatee of the work. As the President of the Hingham Agricultural and Horticultural Society, he represents the civic and humanitarian spirit of the nineteenth-century agricultural movement, providing the moral and social context in which the author’s labor is situated.
• T. A. Knight: A representative of the "successful cultivator." He serves as a case study in practical experimentation, specifically regarding the prevention of mildew in pea crops, demonstrating the transition from traditional lore to scientific observation.
• The Market-Gardeners of London: A collective figure used as a benchmark for excellence. They represent the high standard of industry and the willingness to invest in labor-intensive practices—such as importing sandy mud from the Thames—to achieve a superior harvest.
• The "Experienced Cultivator" and the "Beginner": The dual audience for whom the book is written. They are the people who stand to benefit from the author’s work, representing the shared human need for clarity and guidance in the complex task of stewarding a garden.

In Its Own Voice

The author acknowledges the subjective nature of taste and the environmental variables that make his task difficult, noting:

It is not, however, presumed that the list is complete, as many varieties, perhaps of much excellence, are comparatively local: never having been described, they are, of course, little known.

Describing the culinary virtues of a particular root vegetable, the author provides a vivid, sensory assessment of its profile:

When cooked, they possess a rice-like taste and consistency, are quite farinaceous, and unquestionably nutritive and valuable for food.

In his analysis of the once-beloved but now fading potato, he offers a candid critique of its agricultural decline:

As a potato for early planting, whether for family use or for the market, it was a general favorite; but, within a few years past, it has not only greatly deteriorated in quality and productiveness, but has been peculiarly liable to disease and premature decay of the plants.

What It's Really About

At its core, this book is an exploration of the fragile relationship between human ambition and biological reality. It is an argument for the necessity of documentation in a world where variety is the rule and permanence is the exception. The central tension lies in the author's attempt to categorize an ever-shifting, living subject; he recognizes that to name a variety is to freeze it in time, even as it continues to evolve or disappear through cross-breeding, disease, and changing environmental pressures.

The book delves into the question of what constitutes "value" in agriculture. Is it productivity? Hardiness? Flavor? Marketability? By describing nearly eleven hundred species and varieties, the text suggests that value is highly contextual. A variety that is prized in the Carolinas may be useless in New England, and a vegetable that is "best" for the table may be the "worst" for the merchant. The book refuses to settle on a single hierarchy, instead presenting a democratic view of the garden where the ornamental, the medicinal, and the edible are given equal weight and rigorous description.

There is a significant theme of human migration and the adaptation of species. The text frequently mentions the origins of vegetables—from the deserts of Asia, the coasts of Europe, or the humid soils of Spain. This framing treats the American garden not as a static, native space, but as a dynamic, cosmopolitan site of integration. The book asks the reader to consider the effort required to make these foreign plants feel at home, highlighting the labor, the specialized soil preparation, and the protective structures—like glass frames—that are required to sustain them.

Finally, the book is a study of loss and memory. By cataloging varieties that were already losing their footing by 1863, the author participates in a form of preservation. He acknowledges that his work is a manual for the present, but implicitly, it functions as a ledger of a vanishing diversity. It prompts the reader to reflect on the nature of progress; as the "Strap-leaved" turnip replaces the "Purple-top Flat," the reader is forced to confront the fact that agricultural "improvement" often results in the erasure of older, perhaps more nuanced, varieties. The book is, in this sense, a quiet, scholarly protest against the homogenization of the American garden.

Why Read It Today

Reading this work today feels like walking through a vast, abandoned conservatory where every label is still perfectly in place. It is a slow, rhythmic experience, best suited for those who appreciate the poetry of precision and the quiet satisfaction of a detailed inventory. It offers a glimpse into a time when the identity of a vegetable was a matter of regional pride and personal expertise, rather than the anonymous, standardized commodity we encounter in modern supermarkets.

The book is not without its challenges. Its length and exhaustive detail can be daunting, and the reader must be prepared for the dry, technical vernacular of the mid-nineteenth century. There is no narrative fluff; the prose is as functional as a garden spade. Furthermore, the modern reader will encounter the attitudes of a different era—an unwavering belief in the human capacity to conquer and categorize nature, and a focus on agricultural utility that sometimes ignores the broader ecological impact of such efforts.

However, the reward for this effort is a profound sense of connection to the past. It stays with you because it forces you to look at the grocery store produce aisle with a new, critical eye. You begin to wonder about the "lost" varieties of potatoes or the forgotten kales that no longer travel well enough for mass distribution. It highlights how much of our daily diet has been narrowed for the sake of efficiency.

You will love this book if you are a gardener who longs for the stories behind your seeds, a historian of the American domestic landscape, or someone who finds comfort in the thoroughness of a well-organized reference. It is a work of deep, humble observation. After putting it down, you are left with the lingering, vivid impression that the garden is a much larger, more diverse, and more history-laden place than it appears at first glance. It reminds you that every bite of food is the result of a long, human negotiation with the earth, one that is constantly changing, season by season, decade by decade.