We’re hoping to put in a small garden this year, a couple of tomato plants, zucchini, basil, parley, some lettuce. It’s been I think 3 years since our last one. A lot has been going on and it’s been difficult to get organized for a project like that. So we’ll see. It’s probably already too late to start our own tomato plants. Garden centers now do carry a wider selection of plant varieties than years ago, so maybe we’ll be able to find the Carmelos or Brandywines we favor. Meanwhile supplementing the seed catalog surfing, I remember a particular garden themed blog post that’s become something of a ritual for me this time of year.
Pruned: So basically what are atomic gardens?
Paige Johnson: After WWII, there was a concerted effort to find ‘peaceful’ uses for atomic energy. One of the ideas was to bombard plants with radiation and produce lots of mutations, some of which, it was hoped, would lead to plants that bore more heavily or were disease or cold-resistant or just had unusual colors. The experiments were mostly conducted in giant gamma gardens on the grounds of national laboratories in the US but also in Europe and countries of the former USSR.
These efforts ultimately reached far into the world outside the laboratory grounds in several ways: in plant varieties based on mutated stocks that were—and still are—grown commercially, in irradiated seeds that were sold to the public by atomic entrepreneur C.J. Speas during the 50s and 60s and through the Atomic Gardening Society, started in England by Muriel Howorth to promote the mutated varieties.
It’s easy to look back at it all as some crazy, or conspiratorial, plot. But the atomic gardens weren’t a secret. They’ve just been forgotten. And it’s clear from reading the primary sources that most people involved were deeply sincere. They really thought their efforts would eradicate hunger, end famine, prevent another war.
My parents never had a vegetable garden while my brother and I were growing up. I first encountered a kitchen garden as a part of my daily life in college. The August before my junior year I moved in with friends Bob and Teddy living their version of the back to the land life.
The house was a small cinder block thing in the hills behind the University. It’s street address was “The Little White House on Brown Road”. Anyway, Bob and Teddy had, carved out a garden in a hay-field across the road, I’m guessing with the help of the inhabitants of “The Green House on Brown Road”. I arrived just at its peak.
The onions were notable because the soil was rich in sulphur, the element that creates onionness. Cutting into one made everyone in the house cry. (The house had well water so taking a shower was an olafactory adventure.)
I could imagine Donna Haraway living in our little community, maybe in The Red House. They always scared me a little bit. Even in the context of Brown Road, they seemed unpredictable, and given to sudden movements of body, speech and mind. (Oddly one of them became mayor of Binghamton).
The cyborg is resolutely committed to partiality, irony, intimacy, and perversity. It is oppositional, utopian, and completely without innocence. No longer structured by the polarity of public and private, the cyborg defines a technological pollis based partly on a revolution of social relations in the oikos, the household.. .. Unlike the hopes of Frankenstein’s monster, the cyborg does not expect its father to save it through a restoration of the garden… The cyborg would not recognize the Garden of Eden; it is not made of mud and cannot dream of returning to dust. Perhaps that is why I want to see if cyborgs can subvert the apocalypse of returning to nuclear dust in the manic compulsion to name the Enemy. Donna Haraway, “A Cyborg Manifesto
We didn’t take photos on Brown Road. Teddy went out west right after graduation and pretty immediately disappeared. When Bob died a couple of years ago, several of his friends of that era tried to find Teddy, they all said the same thing, “Teddy went off the grid.”
I wasn’t close with any of the other Brown Roaders. Karen is the only person I know who was there. I find it hard to imagine that this level of “imperfection, loss and error” would be acceptable to most people if built into the code of their devices as Kitchin and Dodge suggest. But if it was, maybe it’s true, our human/space would be more human.