Somebody Thought It Was Worth Saving

The Story of the Fish Pepper

I was standing in the garden admiring the Fish pepper plant.

That’s really all I was doing.

If you’ve never seen one, she’s beautiful. The leaves are splashed with green and cream like somebody took a paintbrush to them. The peppers hide beneath all that beautiful foliage, changing colors as they mature until eventually they become this brilliant red.

It’s the kind of plant that makes you stop.

And I did.

But the longer I stood there looking at it, the more I thought about something.

There are things growing at 1737 because they’re delicious.

There are things growing here because they’re beautiful.

And then there are things growing here because somebody before us thought they were worth saving.

The Fish pepper is all three.

Before It Was an Heirloom

Today, we can call it an heirloom.

We can order seeds, plant them in our gardens, take pictures when those gorgeous variegated leaves start showing off, and tell everybody about the unusual pepper we’re growing.

But long before any of that, the Fish pepper was being grown and used in Black communities around the Chesapeake Bay, particularly in Maryland.

It became known for its place in seafood cooking. The peppers could be used at different stages of ripeness, including the pale young peppers that could add heat to cream-colored fish and shellfish dishes without dramatically changing their appearance.

That’s where the name came from.

Fish pepper.

Simple enough.

Except the story isn’t simple at all.

Because this pepper carries the story of Black cooks and Black gardeners whose influence helped shape American food while their names and contributions were far too often left out of the telling.

They grew food.

They cooked.

They experimented.

They saved seed.

They shared what they knew.

And somewhere in all of that ordinary, everyday living, they kept this little pepper going.

Somebody Saved the Seeds

That’s the part I can’t stop thinking about.

At some point, somebody stood in a garden and chose which pepper would stay on the plant.

They let it mature.

They collected the seeds.

They dried them.

They tucked them away.

And when planting time came again, they put those seeds back into the dirt.

Then somebody did it again.

And again.

And again.

There was no way for those gardeners to know that generations later somebody would give this pepper the word heirloom.

They couldn’t have known that one day people would deliberately seek it out because of its history.

They were simply preserving something that mattered to them.

Maybe because they loved the flavor.

Maybe because it grew particularly well.

Maybe because there was a dish that just wasn’t right without it.

Maybe because those seeds had already been handed to them by somebody they loved.

We don’t know every hand that carried them.

We don’t know every garden where they grew.

We don’t know every meal they seasoned.

But we know enough to know this:

Somebody thought they were worth saving.

And thank God they did.

And Now It’s Growing Here

That’s the part that gets me.

Because after all those years and all those hands…

There is a Fish pepper growing at 1737 Urban Homestead.

Right here.

In our little piece of dirt.

I can walk outside and touch those beautiful variegated leaves.

I can watch those peppers change color.

Eventually, we’ll harvest them.

We’ll cook with some.

And we’ll save seeds.

That last part feels different now.

Because seed saving can sound like just another garden chore.

Harvest. Dry. Label. Store.

But when you’re growing something with a history like this, you realize you’re participating in something much older than your own garden.

Someone saved before you.

Now it’s your turn.

That’s What We’re Really Growing

Maybe that’s part of what I love so much about growing food.

A garden has a way of connecting things.

Past and present.

People who will never meet.

Hands that worked soil generations apart.

A seed small enough to disappear in the palm of your hand can carry a story much bigger than itself.

And maybe that’s why some things deserve more than simply being harvested.

They deserve to be remembered.

They deserve to be shared.

They deserve to be planted again.

So yes, the Fish pepper is beautiful.

Yes, we’re going to eat it.

And knowing Jordan, there’s probably going to be one tucked into a pocket somewhere before this season is over. 😂

But we’re also going to save it.

Because somebody before us thought it was worth saving.

We do too.

Cultivating Community… Harvesting Home.

— The Front Porch at 1737 Urban Homestead