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# Time, Consumption and Everyday Life Practice, Materiality and Culture

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Commercial Calendars

If plants themselves exhibited natural life cycles, people placed those cycles into units of time they could measure and record, often imprinting an annual calendar on the sequence of activities associated with growing plants. Many of the horticultural manuals written over the course of the nineteenth century drew their structure from the annual sequence of garden tasks, reinforcing a calendric approach to gardening. One of the earliest gardening advice books in the American context was Bernard M’Mahon’s The American Gardener’s Calendar, adapted to the Climates and Seasons of the United States, published by the author in 1806. The American Gardener’s Calendar, which would continue to be published for fifty years through eleven editions, was the culmination of M’Mahon’s career as a seed seller. M’Mahon was born c. 1775 in Ireland and immigrated to the United States in 1796. His background in Ireland and his reasons for leaving are not yet clear in the historical record, but he appears to have landed in Philadelphia with knowledge of both gardening and the printing trade. In 1801, M’Mahon worked for the printer William Duane, from whom Thomas Jefferson would later order his volume of the Calendar. He may also have worked for David Landreth, the proprietor of an extensive nursery and seed business in Philadelphia. By 1802, M’Mahon had established his own seed store; in that year or the next he issued a broadside catalogue of seeds with over 700 choices, and in 1804 he published a thirty-page seed list (Hatch 1993; From Seed to Flower, 1976). M’Mahon’s store was a centre for the Philadelphia-based botanists and gardeners who legitimated his trade, and he supplied and maintained a correspondence with the best-known naturalist of his day, Thomas Jefferson (Betts 1944). As one of the earliest American seed sellers to reach a market beyond the geographic confines of his Philadelphia shop, and one of the first to employ print as a means of commodifying horticultural specimen, M’Mahon proves a good focal point for the consideration of routines in the American garden.

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M’Mahon’s text was one of many in the calendric form, with the text divided into twelve units, detailing the progression of garden tasks in each month of the year. The monthly schedule of horticultural advice was pragmatic: bounded enough to let novices know what they should be thinking about when, but loose enough to allow for local variations in soil conditions, temperature, rainfall and other factors that might affect planting and harvest. M’Mahon certainly drew on English precedents in gardening books, most notably the works of Philip Miller and Thomas Mawe (Hatch 1993). Though his horticultural advice may not have been unique, or even original, he did try to adapt it for the American climate, or, more accurately, climates – he drew distinctions between the three major sectors of the eastern seaboard, which he designated the southern, middle and eastern states. His prose was in the form of a direct address to the reader, setting out tasks and offering explanations for them. In the breadth of its assumed audience and its practical organization based on the calendar, M’Mahon’s book echoed the traditional form of the almanac. However, he made sure to distinguish his own advice from folk wisdom regarding plants. He explained, ‘I am not an advocate for sowing seeds on a particular day of the week, or month, nor in the full or wane of the moon, nor when the wind blows from the east, west, or any particular point of the compass; these ridiculous and superstitious notions, have been long since, deservedly, banished out of the well informed world’ (M’Mahon 1806: 469). Instead, M’Mahon offered practical suggestions resting on botanical knowledge.

While it could be argued that all businesses benefited from developments in print technology over the course of the nineteenth century, there does seem to have been a special relationship between, or even overlap of, seed sellers and the printing trade. Like M’Mahon, several early American seed sellers were also trained as printers and published their own catalogues, while the larger seed companies that flourished in the late nineteenth century often included on-site printing works to produce their marketing materials. M’Mahon’s distinction between a seed list to promote his business and a gardening manual to educate consumers was increasingly conflated as the nineteenth century progressed and the seed catalogue emerged as a genre combining commerce, instruction, entertainment and artistic merit. Even the ways in which information was presented in catalogues was usually routinized, with front matter about the company, horticultural instruction, different ‘departments’ or categories of seeds for sale, testimonial letters and illustrations, all in more or less the same order. These printed pieces had two main components, again themes we can trace from M’Mahon: instruction and inventory, which were themselves intertwined. Instruction ranged from botany to horticulture, even to design ideals. Catalogues and packages included Linnean nomenclature and some very rudimentary lessons in plant physiology. But the bulk of the instruction was in cultivation practices, and was often organized in calendric form similar to contemporary gardening manuals; some catalogues incorporated almanac pages into their seed lists and advice. It was of course in the company’s best interest to offer these lessons, both to encourage gardeners to experiment with new plants they may not have been familiar with growing, and to ensure that they associated the company with successful seeds.

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The burgeoning horticultural trades capitalized on the calendric nature of gardening practices. Seed catalogues not only contained information arranged in yearly cycles, but they themselves constituted an annual event. (Like the plants that formed the core of their merchandise, these catalogues were often even referred to as ‘annuals’, such as the Burpee Company’s Farm Annual.) Though some larger firms that sold bulbs, roots, plants and trees in addition to seeds might issue two to four seasonal catalogues per year, January was the main event. To this day, the arrival of seed catalogues each January effectively brackets the winter holiday period and marks the start of truly looking ahead and planning for the year, at least for gardeners, or those who aspire to be gardeners. The January mailing of seed catalogues also encourages the gardener to think of the start of the calendar year as a useful start to the year’s gardening, even if in many parts of the American market the ground is frozen solid. E.B. White’s ‘planning and dreaming’ could also be considered New Year’s resolutions.

This annual opportunity to enter consumers’ homes and attract their eye with increasing numbers and quality of illustrations, designs for both ornamental and productive gardens, and of course recommendations of plant material provided a structure for the exchange of seeds. Consumers were encouraged to use the winter months as a time for planning, using the seed catalogue as a reference work; the occasional marginalia one finds today in extant nineteenth-century catalogues, as well as garden journals that detail what seeds were ordered from what catalogues, suggests that this advice was followed. I have seen seed catalogues that were used as colouring books, with the black and white illustrations providing outlines for hand painting, suggesting that the commercial object promoted very different rituals for different ages or members of the family perceived as a collective consumer.

Most of the catalogues started with some form of ‘letter’ from the seedsman to his ‘friends’, with headings such as ‘Gossip with Customers’ or ‘A New Year’s Gift’. James Vick and W. Atlee Burpee were the masters of this genre, which served to personalize a trade relationship conducted without face-to-face contact. These narratives couched commerce in the language of friendship, advice and gift giving. Seed companies recognized the important bond between seller and buyer in a trade where the commodity sold was difficult to judge or value before its use. As the Burpee Company wrote in their 1892 catalogue:

The relations of the Planter to his trusted Seedsman are more intimate than those of the buyer and seller in any other line of business; with other goods the buyer can largely judge of the quality and value by the sample, while with seeds the purchase is altogether a matter of confidence. To merit and maintain this confidence is the constant aim of the conscientious Seedsman. (Burpee’s Farm Annual 1892: 17)

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Of course, firms strove to sell reliable and productive seeds as the first priority in ‘maintaining this confidence’. But they also used the friendly counsel on the planning, sowing, tending and harvesting of fields, gardens, lawns and other planted landscapes to maintain a personal touch in what was an increasingly far-flung business. These marketing practices had both an abstract and specific aim: consumers first needed to be convinced that it was worth buying seeds year after year, and then convinced that they should buy them year after year from the same company.

The epistolary style of the company’s address to the consumer through the seed catalogue invited a response. First, of course, came a response in the form of an order of seeds. But beyond the strict commercial exchange, the personal style of many catalogues suggested a person (or persona) behind the company, who would want to hear about the consumer’s experience with those seeds, experience that was available only at the end of the growing season, whether at harvest time, or when considering purchases for the following year. This social convention, of writing what amounted to a ‘thank you note’ (even for items purchased rather than received as a gift), established a relationship that might then be continued in further correspondence. The forms of exchange between company and consumer – catalogues, letters, orders, all requested and sent on an annual basis – had the effect of encouraging brand loyalty in a trade that relied on a high volume of exchange. What we might now call a ‘feedback loop’ was created, not only between the company and consumers, but also, by printing customers’ letters as testimonials, among the broad community of consumers.

The variety in the consumer base for seeds was used to advantage by the trade, which frequently published excerpts from customers’ letters in catalogues, advertisements or other ephemera. The companies occasionally employed publicly recognizable names, such as the Rev. Henry Ward Beecher, whose endorsement graced several competitors’ pages in the 1860s, or the author Anna Warner, whose 1866 letter to the Vick Company was accompanied by a short story, originally published in Harper’s Weekly, which featured the company (Spring Catalogue 1868; Vick’s Illustrated Catalogue 1867: iii; 1868: i). More often, however, the companies presented the experiences of ordinary customers, who shared the occasionally extraordinary moments of their lives. Testimonial letters were so effective in this broad and varied market because no particular status was needed to voice success; all parties could claim equal authority. The words of a well-established market gardener who relied on a given company’s seeds for income were no more authoritative than the story of a self-described amateur gardener whose flowers were the envy of her neighbourhood. Having some sort of professional credential or expertise might lend credence to a testimonial, but not having this experience could equally well convince buyers that such results were attainable by anyone. As a letter from Rev. R.H. Waggoner of Hillsdale, Michigan, noted, ‘The seeds I obtained from you gave great satisfaction. The marvel with all is that with the care, or more properly the neglect, they receive in a common garden they should come equal to your recommendation (Vick’s Illustrated Catalogue 1866: iv). Here, as in many of the letters, it is the status of the common gardener writing in appreciation that in fact becomes a valuable marketing tool.

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For the consumers, writing these letters was a way of sharing horticultural success, in the many different arenas in which their practices took place. Letters recounted a range of rewards, such as neighbourhood acclaim for an abundant garden; prizes for a horticultural specimen deemed the best at county or state fairs; or financial gain from prolific crops with good market value. The model of a letter of gratitude to a company, whether for a specific gift or the general worth of the product purchased, provides a means of subsuming personal pride within the broader context of corporate praise; correspondents were also not above including complaints about a specific selection that did not grow as well as others. Thus, in their correspondence with seed houses, consumers took stock at the end of the growing season, effectively marking time on the horticultural calendar.

Horticultural Improvement

In the horticultural marketplace, the natural cycles of planting were augmented by cycles of commercial exchange. For both purveyors and consumers, the issue was not just one of dividing the calendar year into particular tasks, but learning how best to organize those tasks, to achieve their intertwined aims of, on the one hand, growing and selling seeds and, on the other, growing and harvesting crops from those seeds. Although at the heart of these pursuits were common agrarian acts of sowing seeds and tending plants, nineteenth-century horticulture played out against the backdrop of industrialization, bringing new approaches to the timing, ordering and sequencing of responsibilities.

As E.B. White stated a century after its maturation, the seed trade was ‘complex’. When consumers selected a particular brand, they were not necessarily purchasing seeds directly from those responsible for growing them. The companies that sold seeds to the retail and wholesale market varied in how they themselves obtained the seeds they sold. Small firms might act solely as distributors, of seeds bought from other firms or from growers, while the larger firms did grow some of their own stock, while also buying from both American and European growers. No firms grew all the seeds they sold, as, in the words of the Burpee Company, ‘this would be a physical impossibility’ (Burpee’s Select List 1889: 3). The world of the individual seed growers who supplied the retail firms was a highly localized and specialized business, differing from the state of agriculture at the time in its scale, choice of crops and modes of reaping, both crops and profits. While large-scale fields of grains were common economic endeavours by the nineteenth century, large-scale farming of vegetables, fruits and flowers did not take root until refrigerated transportation allowed for the movement of the crops, by train in the last quarter of the nineteenth century and in trucking not until the twentieth century. The seed growers, however, did plant such fields, harvesting not the produce but the seeds. Lines between producer and consumer blurred, as purveyors usually fell into both categories at once.

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The seed trade took the seeds from their growing fields and added value to them by sorting, categorizing, storing, describing, packaging, mailing and offering advice through printed ephemera. This ‘manufacturing’ made seeds sold by firms more convenient, and perhaps even more valuable, than those saved by consumers from the previous year’s plants. With these processes, natural produce was transformed into commercial products, and those products became associated with the firm that sold the commodity, even if that firm did not originally ‘produce’ or grow the seeds. We might consider these organizational processes the industrial influence of the seed trade, where industry implies a systematized and efficient approach to labour, usually towards an end product with a market value of some sort. The routines of these commercial forms of horticultural labour were linked to the routines of seasonal consumer activity. Unlike some commodities, which could be purchased and used at any time, seeds for the American market were generally purchased and planted in a narrow band of time in the late winter and early spring. The consumers horticultural calendar determined the sequencing not only of the sourcing of seeds within the trade, but also such tasks as writing and printing the annual catalogue or working in the mailroom to open orders.

The purpose-built structures in which this processing and publicizing took place constituted the factories of seed ‘production’, along with the fields in which they were grown. In fact, many nineteenth-century seed companies promoted these sites of industry in their own ephemera. Promotional materials of the latter half of the nineteenth century frequently included engravings of these grand warehouse buildings. Trade catalogues might include several pages devoted to the different sectors of the interior workspaces, both graphically and verbally depicting the work that occurred within them – ranging from opening mail, sorting seeds, designing and printing marketing materials, packaging and mailing – as busy hives of work. The emphasis on these spaces of sorting, storing and sending, which mediated between the producers’ and consumers’ fields, showed the processes of distribution to be as significant to the development of the seed trade as those of growing. In 1867, the American Agriculturalist commended B.K. Bliss as a leader in the seed trade by writing, ‘By liberal advertising, thorough system, and indefatigable attention to the details of his work, he has built up a business extending all over the United States, and demanding larger facilities’ (Spring Catalogue 1868). The facilities in question, however, were not at the firm’s growing fields in Springfield, Massachusetts, but rather their new warehouse building in New York City, through which all orders were handled. If the word ‘industrial’ suggests a highly organized or systematized form of work, it also connotes ‘scale and scope’ (to borrow from the business historian Alfred Chandler), in both production and potential markets. The urban warehouses of the seed trade symbolized in built form the breadth of the trade.

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The seed trade placed this emphasis on the processing tasks that added value to the commodity of seeds because otherwise the modes of production of purveyor and consumer were hard to distinguish. In fact, it could be said that plants themselves ‘produce’ seeds, so the human role is one of tending and care. Many nineteenthcentury industries developed mechanized production processes that, while replicating and replacing earlier craft-based work, could not themselves be replicated on a domestic scale or without significant capital investment. Seed growers, however, shared their work processes with the farmers and gardeners who would eventually buy their goods. Still, at least in the large firms, there was fluidity between work sites that brought aspects of one location to another. For example, the W. Atlee Burpee Company rotated employees between their Philadelphia warehouse and their growing and testing fields at Fordhook Farm a few miles outside of the city; stints on the farm would give the best training in identification and sorting to those in the warehouse, while an understanding of the processing would lead to increased systematizing of the Farm (Burpee’s Farm Annual 1893: 1). The labour of the seed trade was indeed a hybrid of agricultural (or horticultural) and industrial practice.

In one important inversion of the rhythms of these sectors of work, the tasks within the urban warehouse work followed a seasonal calendar thought typical of agriculture while the presentation of the growing fields was in terms of rigid systems and clock-watching. Fordhook Farm was a popular site, certainly the best known of any seed farm in the United States in the last quarter of the nineteenth century, and was frequently profiled in agricultural and horticultural papers, as well as Burpee’s own marketing materials. In one of the company’s Farm Annuals the farm is described in terms that certainly call to mind industrial settings. The work at the farm

could not be accomplished if it were not done systematically. And truly, this is the keynote of the great success attained here in high cultivation and development – system. Everything moves by clockwork, and everybody about the farm, from the manager to the boy in the fields, is regulated by the strictest of rules and observances. Every man know just what he has to do, and knows that no slipshod or incomplete work will be tolerated . . . It is hard to convey to the public any idea whatever of the enormous amount of work. (Burpee’s Farm Annual 1896: 3)

Here, not just the calendar but also the clock sets the pace for horticultural work.

The emphasis on ‘system’ evident in Burpee’s trade literature is perhaps not surprising, in a trade trying to avoid just the ‘riotous’ characterization that White placed on them a century later. But similar rhetoric reached consumers as well, in a variety of forms. A small genre of advice literature written in the form of novels emerged in the mid to late nineteenth century in the United States, using fictional characters and plot developments as an innovative form of prescriptive literature, often on matters of the home and garden. One practitioner of this genre, Charles

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Barnard, wrote four such novels on various aspects of gardening for both home consumption and local markets. As an example, the book Farming by Inches, published in 1869, tells the story of a bookkeeper in an unnamed North American city with striking similarities to Boston. The clerk is in ill health and is advised by his doctor to get out to the country. As luck would have it, the very next day news arrives that a distant relative with no closer heirs has died, leaving the clerk a house and a few acres on the outskirts of a mill town. In due course, he and his wife decide to move there and try their hand at raising vegetable for markets in the town. In crafting the story of Robert and Harriet Nelson, which the last lines of the book state ‘is a true story of actual experience’, Barnard explains how the couple, with no background in tending the soil between them, learn to garden (Barnard 1869: 123).

Barnard’s book echoes not only the description of Burpee’s Fordhook Farm, but the agricultural reform movements of the late nineteenth century, through applying organizational ideas to small-scale gardening. At the start of the novel, the characters pledge, ‘we resolved that all things should be conducted in the most systematic order. We would bring our methodical and mercantile ways of doing things into a business notoriously loose and inaccurate in its operation’ (Barnard 1869: 20). Examples of organization usually considered hallmarks of the industrial era creep into their habits. In one instance, while doing the prosaic task of bundling radishes to prepare them for selling, Hattie asks if it would save time to divide the labour. They change the process so that their hired hand washes the radishes, Robert arranges the bundles and Hattie ties them; they work much more quickly as a result of this separation of tasks into constituent parts. In another scene, they wonder at the apparent leisure of a neighbouring farmer noting his ‘utter indifference to the value of time’ (Barnard 1869: 78). This passage raises the issue of task orientation and time orientation, the former usually associated with agricultural work and the latter with industrial work; the Nelsons slowly introduce the time orientation of their previous urban lives to their horticultural pursuits. To underscore this point, Barnard depicts the end of a day of preparing garden beds as coinciding with the sound of the factory whistle coming from the nearby mill town. Still, all the while, the Nelsons reject any kind of mechanized labour in the market garden, only in part because they are planting so intensively as not to leave any room for garden machinery. Barnard lauds the health benefits of outdoor, manual work, as well as of the literal fruits of their labour. He seems to advocate drawing on what he perceives to be the best components of the two prevalent economic and social systems.

The passages from Burpee’s catalogue and Bernard’s novel reveal varying attitudes towards time in relation to horticultural practice and, by extension, horticultural consumption. One of the differences between agrarian and industrial economies and cultures is the way labour is organized. Agricultural work is said to be ‘task-orientated’, in that there are a set of tasks to be carried out in the raising and tending of produce and livestock. Some of these tasks need to be performed daily and some seasonally; some tasks are affected by forces, such as weather or blight, beyond human control. So those engaged in agricultural work must organize their labour in effective ways, often adjusting as they go, to make sure the list of requisite tasks is completed. By contrast, much industrial work, especially in mechanized production, is ‘time-orientated’, with labour organized into specific, frequently repeated, tasks that are carried out for a certain period of time. These two approaches to the organization of time, one by nature, one by the clock, carry over from work to other facets of social and cultural life. For example, in the United States, the sports of baseball and (American) football developed in different ways, with the former played as long as it takes to complete a particular set of tasks, and the latter played for a specific amount of time, in which a set of tasks may be repeated any number of times.<sup>2</sup>

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While these formulations certainly ring true in the starkest examples of agrarian and industrial labour and leisure, the case of horticultural work appears to bridge this divide. The hybrid nature of the business of supplying horticultural specimens and the varied ways in which consumers fit horticultural practice into their lives show a variety of approaches to time and the rhythms of tasks that, at least for the consumers, might be coded variously as work or leisure. For some consumers, horticulture might constitute their livelihood and they might approach their time in the garden as the main activity to fit other endeavours around; for others, gardening might be a hobby, something taken up as time allowed, whether regularly, for an hour a day, or really as a filler activity when space is freed up. Today, estate agents promote the ideal of the ‘low-maintenance garden’, to appeal to those who do not have much time to devote to tending plants; there has always been a broad spectrum in the ways in which horticultural consumers use their purchases.

In presenting itself as resident in the borderland between agriculture and industry, the seed trade recognized that its market was a hybrid as well. Consumers of seeds might plant grain, produce or flowers, for sustenance, economic livelihood, ornament or any combination thereof. Going as far back in the trade as Bernard M’Mahon, he cast a very broad net when it came to defining who the ‘American Gardener’ was in 1806. According to its extended title, the Calendar was ‘a complete account of all the work necessary to be done in the Kitchen-Garden, Fruit-Garden, Orchard, Vineyard, Nursery, Pleasure-Ground, Flower-Garden, Green-House, Hot-House, and Forcing Frames’ (M’Mahon 1806: iv). While the start of a demographic shift from rural to urban populations certainly did begin in the United States during the nineteenth century, that shift did not imply a decline in planting, but, rather, I think, a greater variety of markets. The variation in consumer profiles in the seed trade was reflected in the breadth of the commodities and in the varied approaches to horticultural pursuits.

Regardless of how horticultural tasks were carried out, they were linked to ideals of improvement, on a number of different scales – improvement of the soil, of the home plot and by extension of region or even nation. Regardless of the time they had to spend on horticultural practices, and the ways in which they organized that time, if gardeners sought to improve small parcels of land, their collective efforts would create a national landscape. Horticultural commodities seemed to have as much in common with mercantile goods as with agricultural produce, as both tastes and access to garden materials might be influenced by broad commercial contact. Horticulture, in all its many facets, provided a possible bridge between the Jeffersonian vision of a small-scale agricultural endeavour and the American System’s support of larger scale commercial prospects. If Americans could see gardening as not only an artistic and scientific pursuit, but also an economic or commercial one, then improvement in the horticultural sense mirrored, rather than opposed, the cause of other ‘internal improvements’ that affected the composition of landscape on a national scale. Ultimately, improvement was another form of recording time, inscribing onto the landscape the changes between the ‘dim, infertile past’ and the abundance that was more readily possible as a result of horticultural commerce.

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Notes

1. I would like to thank Elysa Engelman for bringing this essay to my attention.

2. For this formulation of different attitudes to time, I am indebted to the teachings of Jean–Christophe Agnew.

References

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