Owen's ‘Owen's Purple' tomato

Owen Farrell holds his namesake tomato, Owen's Purple. Provided by Ginnie Farrell An Owen's Purple, an heirloom tomato variety created by Ginnie Farrell. Provided by Ginnie Farrell The tomato that captured my heart was a deep yellow, bordering on orange. It was sold years ago by a farmer off the back of his truck at a makeshift roadside stand, piled with beautiful red tomatoes and this one large, deep yellow tomato. I was captivated by it. 'What kind of tomato is this?' I asked incredulously, gently cradling it. Advertisement Article continues below this ad 'Heirloom,' the farmer smiled, seeming to know that he had started an obsession that would stick. It wasn't just the color of this deep yellow tomato, it was the texture. It was the meatiest tomato I'd ever had, with only a few seeds in its thick flesh. It was the taste, hearty and sweet, with a kiss of acid in the first bite that quickly faded away. This fruit I thought I knew so well, suddenly so much more complex and interesting. Heirloom. I carried the name with me to the library, hoping to find out how to get more of these tomato phenomena. The library revealed that heirloom was not the type of tomato, but rather a variety that grew true from the seed. There were so many heirloom tomatoes in so many colors — black, purple, pink, orange, green, white — with names like Cherokee Purple, Green Zebra, Amana Orange, Box Car Willie, Kellogg's Breakfast — the closest to that tomato that had first captured my heart. And in the early days of the internet, I found fellow obsessed enthusiasts, carefully saving seeds and sharing them. Advertisement Article continues below this ad I took my first plunge of crossing my two favorite tomato plants — Paul Robeson, a stunning dark copper tomato with a deep flavor that blends sweetness with a savory, smoky taste, utterly beautiful but a sparse yield; and Mortgage Lifter, a large, sweet, deep pink, prolific tomato. It took years of growing out the hybridized plants until the seeds grew true in plant that produced a large, deep purple tomato, with the complexity of flavor of the Paul Robeson and the massive production of the Mortgage Lifter. I named it 'Owen's Purple' after my oldest child. I continued to create varieties that bore my other children's names: Andrew's Big Bite and Ellie's Blush. But Owen's Purple was my triumph. On the Garden Web discussion board, Mike from Washington asked if I would share the seeds with him, offering to pay for the postage. I happily shared and paid for the postage, just asking him to continue to share the seeds freely with others, never knowing if he did. Life shifts, and as my time became more community focused, there was less time to start seeds and manage a large garden. Eventually, I stopped saving seeds, and my garden shrank. Each year, the seeds from my cherished varieties became less and less likely to germinate, until one day, I sadly realized they were likely lost. Then my oldest, once a toddler digging next to me in the garden, now an adult moving into a new apartment, excitedly told me about having an outdoor space for a garden. I felt a pang that my varieties no longer existed, especially the magical Owen's Purple. Advertisement Article continues below this ad But Mike from Washington made good on his promise. A quick internet search revealed several farms that sold Owen's Purple seeds; most of them even mentioned my name! A YouTube taste test said it was one of the best tomatoes they had ever had. I excitedly shared the links with Owen, and he immediately purchased seeds. Then he lovingly cared for the plants that grew. Sign up for the Observation Deck newsletter Keep up with the latest editorials, commentary and letters to the editor about the issues that matter to you. Sign up here I got an excited phone call and a flurry of photos of four large, deep-purple tomatoes with a complex flavor that I believed was lost. Owen's Owen's Purple had borne fruit. Advertisement Article continues below this ad Those seeds I had happily shared 15 years before with a stranger across the country have come back in the best possible way, a smoky-sweet reminder of the tremendous dividends of paying things forward. Ginnie Farrell lives in Albany and is a member of the Common Council.