Into the Archives: Patrice Fortier, permaculture hero & seed evangelist

 

fig. a: Patrice Fortier in his element

It’s hard to believe, but it’s now been OVER 20 YEARS since we first made the acquaintance of Patrice Fortier and his incomparable la Société des Plantes, one of the world’s great purveyors of rare and heirloom seeds, and, therefore, significant figures in the push for biodiversity and sustainability. Its name might conjure visions of vast fields and orchards, huge arrays of greenhouses, and large teams of botanists, but la Société des Plantes is a modest operation, owned and operated by Patrice and his small team of associates and based on a small farm in Kamouraska, in the Bas-Saint-Laurent region of Eastern Quebec. In any case, in retrospect, it seems as though we actually met Patrice before we started “…an endless banquet,” in the fall of 2004, but that our second encounter with Patrice occurred right in the thick of the first month of AEB’s existence—November 2004—a period of excitement and high enthusiasm that resulted in a torrent of posts (21 in all, although many of them amounted to little more than “micro-blogging,” avant la lettre).

Patrice quickly became not only an inspiration for this couple of novice food bloggers, he became a good friend. And back in the day, he used to regularly show up in Montreal with his fantastic (and fantastical) assortments of vegetables and hold these largely impromptu farm stand sales that were very much true to the DIY roots of la Société des Plantes (and very much in line with the DIY philosophy of AEB), so he also became a recurring character in the pages of AEB. Not surprisingly, a number of our favourite posts feature Patrice quite prominently.

The photo up top—the one with the full angelica headdress—is my favourite photo of Patrice. In 2012 we finally went to visit Patrice in Kamouraska, and when we did we discovered that a documentary film was being made about him: Julie Perron’s Le Semeur (2014). We arrived just in time to behold the shooting of an elaborate fertility ritual that Patrice had created for the film. My photograph is a behind-the-scenes view of the action that captures some of the chaotic energy that was in the air on that August afternoon. If you’re interested in tracking down the finished version of Le Semeur (The Sower), you can do so here.

And if you’d like to read all about that magical first visit to la Société des Plantes, you can do so right here. In addition to details of our visit to Patrice’s farm, you’ll find tales of bakeries, charcuterie producers, smokehouses, restaurants, and eel appreciation centres, as well as a preview for a stunning “Hommage à Kamouraska” menu that Michelle had created for Foodlab (a.k.a., Labo Culinaire), featuring vegetables from la Société des Plantes.

fig. b: Patrice’s squashes, Mile End, 2005

The AEB Archives also contain a number of posts about Patrice’s numerous DIY farm stand sales, especially in the years 2004-2010. Some of these literally took place on street corners. Others took place in an odd assortment of businesses, all of them run by members of Montreal’s secretive Vegetable Underground, like bike shops and wine importation houses.

Examples of these posts include our very first piece on Patrice and la Société des Plantes in November 2004, as well as the following items:

fig. c: Michelle & her Société des Plantes cardoon, 2006

Finally, this is one of my favourite photos of Michelle from AEB. It’s a photo of her holding a prized la Société des Plantes cardoon in 2005.

We had the pleasure of seeing Patrice again yesterday when he held a sale of his seeds (sorry, no vegetables this time!) at Librarie Gourmande at Marché Jean-Talon. It was such a treat to see him again—it had been a while. And one of the reminiscences that came up was the vision of Michelle and her cardoon at one of those early streetside sales. Patrice mentioned that AEB had been among the first to draw attention to la Société des Plantes in Montreal. That may have been true, but our interest in Patrice and la Société des Plantes had everything to do with his phenomenal assortments of vegetables and his magnetic personality. He was the one who was doing something extraordinary. He still is.

Once again, if you’d like to learn more about la Société des Plantes, you can check out their website HERE. If you’re a gardener, or you have gardeners in your life, seeds from la Société des Plantes make a wonderful gift.

aj

p.s. 1: One of our earliest recipes was one inspired by our second visit to one of Patrice’s sales, where we picked up “white carrots and white beets, tomatillos, chervil, homemade plum preserve, homemade herbes salées, and fresh horseradish.” The fresh horseradish found its way into a recipe for Horseradish Mashed Potatoes that we’d gleaned from Amanda Hesser’s 1999 book The Cook and the Gardener (seems appropriate), just a few years before Hesser founded Food52. Without any further ado:

Horseradish Mashed Potatoes

1 1/2 pounds potatoes, washed
salt
1/3 c. freshly grated horseradish
juice of 1 lemon
1/4 c. heavy cream
3 tbsp. butter
black pepper

Boil the potatoes in water and salt until tender. Drain.
Grate horseradish, keeping eyes as far away from the grater as possible, and add lemon juice right away.
Crush potatoes with a masher, add horseradish, cream, 2 tbsp. butter, salt and pepper to taste. Mash until desired consistency is reached.
Heat remaining tbsp. of butter in a medium pot, add potatoes, cover, place over medium heat, and stir until they are served.

Serves 6 as a side dish.

(This recipe comes from The Cook and the Gardener by Amanda Hesser)

p.s. 2: Did we pick up some seeds for ourselves? Yes, of course, we picked up some seeds for ourselves!

fig. d: La Société des Plantes seeds, ready to be broadcast

Ceres Arises: A Cereal Narrative, pt. 1

I should start off by saying that my attachment to Ceres, the Roman wheat sheaf-wielding goddess of agriculture, began in London and not in Montpelier. That’s because I worked at a vegetarian café and bakery called Ceres on Portobello Road in my early twenties. The “grain shop,” as it was known, had begun as a macrobiotic pioneer back in the Hippy Era—one that looked something like this.

fig. a: Ceres of London

fig. a: Ceres of London

By the time I got there it was owned by a couple of crazy bon vivants and it had little to do with Zen. And in the time I knew it, Ceres was mostly a veggie take-out, with a decent pastry and bread program, and very close ties to the community.*

Anyway, I started off at Ceres as a replacement baker, but I stayed on as a kitchen hand and cook, and it was definitely the best job I held down during my two years in London. I wasn’t paid much, but I was paid under the table, and I got fed 2-3 meals every day that I worked there, so somehow I still managed to save money to go to shows, see films, and eventually even travel. And I still get incredibly nostalgic about the carry-out containers we used to pack full of brown rice, mac & cheese, fried tofu, veggie curry, sautéed mushrooms, stir-fried broccoli, “cheesy spuds,” and salads of all kinds, including their signature lemon-tahini pasta salad (based on a recipe from a famous veggie café that was located in Harlem in the sixties, or so I was told).

Years later, I can still remember the experience of visiting Montpelier, Vermont for the first time. It was such a tiny town (the population was about 7,000 at the time, but sometimes it felt even smaller than that), such a charming one, but the skyline was dominated by its rather impressive, if diminutive, Vermont State House, with its majestic golden dome. I’m sure I noticed the statue that adorned the dome the first time I laid eyes on it, but it took me years to realize who the statue represented. I’m sure I just assumed it was a statue of Ethan Allen,** or one of Vermont’s other founding fathers, but, in fact, it was Ceres (or, rather, Agriculture) who graced the dome. Wheat sheaf and all.

fig. b: Vermont State House, featuring Ceres, Montpelier, VT

fig. b: Vermont State House, featuring Ceres, Montpelier, VT

I never took a close look at this Ceres. I mostly just admired her from afar. So it was only in the last couple of years, when the word began to get around that Ceres needed to be replaced because she was literally falling apart at the seams, that I learned that she already was a replacement.

The original version of Ceres had been carved and erected by a Vermont artist named Larkin Goldsmith Mead. It was Mead’s first major success, and it established him as an in-demand sculptor—one who would have a long and prolific career in public art.***

In 1938, hasty arrangements were made to replace the original Ceres when it was discovered that Mead’s version was in an advanced state of deterioration. The contract for this Ceres was awarded to Dwight Dwinell, a State House employee who was close at hand and willing to take on the challenge. Dwinell was 87 years old at the time. He was also something of an amateur.

fig. c: portrait of the artist as a sad woman

fig. c: portrait of the artist as a sad woman

As it turns out, in spite of his relative inexperience, Dwinell’s version lasted roughly as long as Mead’s had, but when it became apparent that Ceres 2.0 needed to be replaced as well, an effort was made restore Ceres to her former neo-classical glory, and to make sure this version was built to last: 150 years, if at all possible.

This time it took two artists to recreate Ceres. One of them, Jerry Williams, created a 1/4 scale model based closely on Mead’s original design. The other, Chris Miller—a local stone mason and woodcarver—was the one tasked with carving the 15-foot version out of a block of mahogany (as opposed to the pine that Mead had used).

Miller is a gregarious guy, and a true local character, and one of the conditions he placed on his contract was that his workshop inside the Vermont Granite Museum in nearby Barre be open to the public throughout the carving process. He saw Ceres as being a “people’s artwork,” and, therefore, it was important to him that the people have access to her as she came to life, so to speak, and before she ascended to her summit for the next 150 years.

A little over a week ago, we received an invitation to join our friends M., R., and E. at the Vermont Granite Museum to pay Ceres a visit. Chris was going to be putting the finishing touches on Ceres—applying the final coats of protective white paint, and adding some gold-leaf details—as she was just under a week away from making her ascent. That this was a rare opportunity goes without saying. We jumped at the opportunity.

When we arrived at the museum, we could see that our friends had beaten us there. So we followed the signs to Ceres.

fig. d: “Ceres statue? Come in. Follow signs.”

fig. d: “Ceres statue? Come in. Follow signs.”

fig. e: “statue —>”

fig. e: “statue —>”

fig. f: “statue in here”

fig. f: “statue in here”

When we reached our destination, it was a little like we’d stepped into a cavernous medical theatre to witness some kind of strange operation.

The patient was there in all her splendour.

fig. g: Ceres at rest

fig. g: Ceres at rest

An artist/artisan/surgeon was at work.

fig. h: Chris at work

fig. h: Chris at work

Informative panels/collages had been set up nearby to help explain the history of Ceres, and of the current project.

fig. I: a brief visual history of Agriculture

fig. I: a brief visual history of Agriculture

Hoiy relics had been made available.

fig. j: authentic relics here!

fig. j: authentic relics here!

Fittingly, a crowd of pilgrims began to assemble.

fig. k: pilgrimage

fig. k: pilgrimage

And about an hour after we first arrived, we were lucky enough to witness Ceres being anointed with gold.

fig. l: enter the gilded age

fig. l: enter the gilded age

The application of gold-leaf details was pretty much the final step in the process of creating Ceres 3.0.

A little less than a week later, she took flight again, with a little help from some friends, and in front of a crowd of a few hundred onlookers who’d braved the unusually cold November temperatures to witness a resurrection, Ceres assumed the pedestal she will adorn for the foreseeable future.

fig. m: Ceres arisen!

fig. m: Ceres arisen!

Or as long as the Good Lord is willing, and the Winooski don’t rise.

Of course, we’re no fools. We know how these things are bound to end.

fig. n: all things must come to pass

fig. n: all things must come to pass

But, in the meantime, we feel confident that Ceres was built to stand the test of time. And that she’ll be able to communicate an important message or two to future generations.

aj

* At the time, Ceres also did a very brisk trade in Guarana, if you can remember that moment.

**Allen’s marble statue is actually located inside the State House.

***As it turns out, Ceres is a subject Mead would revisit some 45 years later, when he received a commission to design and carve another version of Ceres—”The Triumph of Ceres”—this time as part of a bas-relief group that would adorn the Agriculture Building at the 1893 World’s Columbian Exposition in Chicago.