The Great Garden Raid: A Cautionary Tale from the Powell Expedition

On This Day
This botanical history post was featured on The Daily Gardener podcast:

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July 6, 1865

On this day, dear readers, we find ourselves transported to the wilds of the American West, where the intrepid members of the John Wesley Powell expedition embarked on a most ill-advised horticultural adventure.

Picture, if you will, a group of rugged explorers, their provisions dwindling, their stomachs growling, as they happened upon a garden oasis on an island in the Green River, just above the mouth of the White River.

Now, one might think that seasoned adventurers would know better than to pilfer from an unknown garden, but alas, hunger is a powerful motivator.

As William Culp Darrah so vividly recounts in his book Powell of the Colorado:

Fresh fruit had been mighty scarce and the temptation to steal some greens was irresistible.

Oh, how familiar this temptation is to us gardeners! Have we not all, at some point, gazed longingly at a neighbor's prize tomatoes or perfectly ripe strawberries?

But let us return to our famished explorers.

Major Powell, Andy, and Bill Dunn, overcome by the siren song of fresh produce, filled their arms with a veritable cornucopia of young beets, turnips, carrots, and potatoes.

Can you imagine their delight, dear readers, at the prospect of a meal not composed of salted meat and hardtack?

The men rowed a few miles down the river and paused to enjoy the stolen fruit. Of course the season was not advanced enough to yield sizable vegetables, so Andy cooked up the whole mess as greens. It was a not-quite-unpleasant stew.

Ah, but here is where our tale takes a turn most unfortunate. For you see, in their haste and hunger, our explorers made a grave botanical error:

After eating their fill and disposing of the remainder, the men resumed the journey. They had not gone a mile before all hands except Bradley and Howland were violently nauseated. Bradley explained that the potato tops were so bitter he had not eaten any.

Oh, the folly of consuming potato leaves! Any seasoned gardener knows the dangers lurking in the foliage of our beloved nightshades. But our poor explorers, more versed in navigation than horticulture, paid dearly for this oversight.

The aftermath of this misadventure led to much debate:

The Major said their illness was caused by a narcotic in the potato leaves, but Hall swore that it was all his fault; in their haste he had only half-cooked the stuff.

Perhaps, dear readers, it was a combination of both - a reminder that when it comes to foraging, knowledge is as crucial as proper preparation.

In the end, Sumner's diary entry serves as a fitting epitaph for this botanical blunder:

We all learned one lesson--never to rob gardens.

Indeed, Mr. Sumner, indeed.

Let this tale serve as a cautionary reminder to us all. While the bounty of a garden may be tempting, it is always best to stick to one's own carefully tended plots. And perhaps more importantly, let us never underestimate the importance of properly identifying every part of a plant before consumption.

As we tend our gardens today, let us raise our trowels in a salute to the Powell expedition.

May their misadventure serve as a reminder of the importance of botanical knowledge, the dangers of ill-considered foraging, and the wisdom of respecting others' gardens - no matter how dire the circumstances!

John Wesley Powell, early 1880s
John Wesley Powell, early 1880s
John Wesley Powell, National Portrait Gallery
John Wesley Powell, National Portrait Gallery

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