The lipstick story
The early 2000s seem so peaceful in retrospect. Weren’t we less divided back then? Oh well, now is our chance to refocus toward a sunny convergence with petunias along every path (if the deer don’t eat them).
But back all those years ago, a couple friends hosted a gathering in autumn. A medley of personality types mingled in happy merriment with Yonder Mountain music in the background underneath valley oaks on the outskirts of town.
I stationed myself by the snack table face-to-face with bowls of short sweet peppers in red, yellow and orange but otherwise identical. Somebody said they were lipstick peppers. By evening’s end, I had deemed them my favorites, so the clever gardener ate only several but carefully rescued seeds from each color into separate napkins.
That gathering turned out to be a sentinel event in my gardening history. I’ve grown lipstick peppers in every garden since, and now I have to do it because it’s what I do.
Similarly, the garlic I grow is descended from a bulb that sprouted in our kitchen at least ten years ago, and each July, I save two or three bulbs from the harvest and plant them in September. This extra level of gardening – perpetuating a variety over time – adds a long-term connection to the garden space. That garlic has grown in most every bed on that hillside.
I am not the only one who transports back and forth into the extra gardening level. I have garden friends like me who save seeds, trade plants and get smiley and excited when giving advice.
A friend sent me seeds she saved from the fruit of a tomato plant I gave her last year. I intend to offer back a plant or two from those seeds. It’s as though I get to start the seedlings, and her family gets the tomatoes. That’s fair – we both have fun.
But regarding lipstick – a pimiento variety from Hungary – the shape is like a jalapeño, and seed catalogs claim the peppers might reach four inches long. The variety I’ve grown rarely exceeds three inches which makes mine cuter, and, when weather cooperates, the plants are prolific. Seed catalogs show only red peppers, and along the way, I have lost the red, leaving only yellow and orange… and mine are shorter. Is this a conundrum?
Lipsticks were bred for short summers of northern gardens. Seedlings transplanted around here by the end of April should yield mature peppers by early July.
The plants might sit idle during very hot weather, but if they are watered once or twice a week, they’ll rebound when the weather moderates and produce until the first frost. Even though they were bred for northern gardens, they do not abide frost.
However, one clever gardener who saves seeds suggested cutting the plants off right before the frost and hanging them upside down in a shed so that the fruit and seeds can continue to mature. If you don’t have a shed, hang a clothesline in your living room.
As for culinary flexibility, lipstick peppers can play all nine positions in the same game… they work well with everything except oatmeal.
When the peppers are mature, seeds are easy to collect. I put them on a napkin or cloth in an out-of-the-way place, flick them around for at least a couple days so they can dry, and then save them for next year.
But now I’m stuck on the fact that all seed catalogs I checked had only red lipstick peppers that matured at four inches. Mine are yellow and orange and shorter. Maybe my peppers are not lipsticks! Doesn’t matter, but it does matter to me that I keep this variety of cute, reliable, tasty, nutritious peppers healthy and extant.
Whatever they are, they’re part of the family.