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“Covered with white flowers in May, purple-black
fruit in July. Grows 4-5 feet tall, bears early. Self pollinating. Zones
3-8.”—Gurney’s catalog
I have to admit some disillusionment with Gurney’s Seed & Nursery
since they sold out and left Yankton, South Dakota. Gurney’s stood
for something in this part of the country. It was a company that, through
its plant offerings and its other enterprises, from tires to radio, showed
a commitment to making life better on the plains. Oh sure, the modest
(well, cheap) catalog looks pretty much the same, but still I wonder.
The description quoted above is for the cherry, “Hansen’s Easy-to-Pick
Shrub Variety.” Does anyone at Gurney’s still know who Niels
Ebbesen Hansen was?
Niels Hansen, a Danish-born botanist, was a plant scientist for the South
Dakota Agricultural Experiment Station. He had some sort of cozy relationship
with Gurney’s, which disseminated his varieties commercially. The
various biographers of Hansen portray him as an energetic genius, which
he was. I feel compelled to say also that he had his flaws—egoism
and deviousness, to begin with—that prevented him from being all
he might have been. Still, during another growing season on the northern
plains, I once again pay homage to this man Hansen, a plant-breeding patriot
of the plains.
When he landed in Brookings in the 1890s, Hansen, as a good public servant,
took it as his mission to make life better for people on the prairies.
Plants were his way of doing that. Plants, though, were a problem for
European immigrants settling the region. Many of their cherished plants—crops
as well as vegetables, fruits, and ornamentals—were unsuited for
the environment.
Hansen reasoned that good plants for people on the plains would come from
two sources. First, obviously, there were the native plants. These should
be studied, perhaps improved by selection, and promoted. Second, there
were foreign introductions, especially introductions from semiarid steppe
lands of other continents—from Russia, for instance. These introductions
might even be grafted or hybridized with natives to produce the best of
both worlds. (There’s a big fat metaphor in there somewhere.)
Hansen, as a plant explorer in Russia, introduced crested wheat grass
to this country. For this he is both blessed and cussed. Crested wheat
grass is good for complementary grazing schemes, because it comes on early
in spring. On the other hand, it’s fashionable today on the plains
to disparage those species that are not native.
Forages were not really Hansen’s field, though; he was a horticulturalist
at heart. He published landmark bulletins on tree planting and ornamental
plants for the plains.
He wanted people to live well.
Hansen’s cherry, as offered in the catalogs, is his selection of
the native sandcherry, a fruit cherished by American Indians and white
settlers alike. I love its pale, delicate blossoms in spring. Its fruit
I either eat out of hand or can in syrup; despite the testimony of pioneers,
I don’t think the sandcherry makes good pies. Some years, too, the
only crop we get from our sandcherries is Hassenpfeffer. Rabbits love
to browse them during the snowy winter.
And next in spring after Hansen’s cherry comes our Dolgo crab, a
Hansen introduction from Russia. The blossoms are a pale pink cloud. The
fruit is oblong, iridescent, and splendid for jelly.
I spread Dolgo crabapple jelly on a biscuit, lay a slice of ham atop it,
and then I say, Yes, Niels Hansen, life can be good on the prairies of
North America.
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