Twenty years ago a budding, heirloom tomato enthusiast got invited into the cramped living room of one of New England’s true godfathers of heirloom tomatoes, Fred Swedberg, to unexpectedly share a measure of his gold.
I’d known Fred’s son, Will from street-side hacky sack circles in and around Orange in the ‘80s. Later, I’d met Fred casually, at local fairs and farmers markets, and we were drawn together by a shared passion for heritage variety tomatoes. I was a starry-eyed amateur, whereas Fred had been growing, promoting and trafficking these heirlooms for years from the front yard and driveway of his rustic, country home on a windy backvroad heading toward Laurel Lake.
About 20 years ago, before we really knew each other at all, Fred invited me to visit him at his home. I figured he’d chat me up, brag on his numerous tomato exploits, and maybe gift me a few seeds from his unusual stash. But there on the crowded couch, surrounded by weathered family appointments and furniture, in a house that was itself a living heirloom, this garrulous, giant of a man, with an obvious love for (perhaps even obsession with) heirloom tomato varieties, proceeded to “pinch” me out, one by one, precious samples of around 65 of his most unusual varieties, for no apparent reason other than a love for his unique treasure and an authentic desire to see these rare heirlooms propagated and passed on…
Armed with a Boston Globe and a sharpie pen, I proceeded to wrap and label every tomato variety and preserve some mental notes of the wild stories and commentary Fred added with each one. Some of the varieties were old favorites like Brandywine and Cherokee Purple, but others were unheard of selections with homespun names from someone’s dead granny, from Siberia, Iberia or the Blue Ridge Mountains. Fred praised the giant, bi-color and off-color beefsteaks, and some ribbed, bulbous and oblong anomalies with names like “Orange Calabash”, “Green Monsta” and “Radiator Charlie”. Fred also was dedicated to creating (by hand pollination) new heirloom hybrids each year, by selecting and crossing for shape, color, taste and ripening dates. Each new creation got a new name, and history, oftentimes allegorical, fantastic, or downright fabricated! Fred could sure spin a yarn. He knew how to have fun.
Now I’m reflexively cautious about folks who come off as overly friendly or too quick to generosity. However there was something entirely different about Fred’s friendly — none of it was an act! It’s ironic and fitting that Fred’s boundless love found it’s perfect metaphor in those open pollinated, heirloom seeds, which by definition, defy “ownership” and instead “belong” forever, freely, and generously to all who need them. I quickly realized Fred wanted nothing from me, other than perhaps to try growing out his tomatoes.
Over the years, our friendship grew and blossomed like midsummer fruit, with mutual gardeners generosity and wonderful, albeit infrequent family visits, and lots of heirloom tomato sharing!
Fred was a humble, hardscrabble, green steward and foodie, a man of God and family, a giant of a man, who’d been through a lot of personal loss over the last decade of his life. But he will be missed dearly and remembered always for his sunny spirit and great laugh, his deep love for his family, his friends, his affection for playing bluegrass music, festivals, and of his amazing heirloom tomatoes which he gifted ceaselessly to the world with a heartfelt generosity.
Fred Swedberg passed away Jan. 5 from an aggressive cancer.
Daniel Botkin is the manager for Laughing Dog Farm www.laughingdogfarm.com.