Mapping out the problem of crop mapping

Time to celebrate the fact that I’ve spent a surprisingly large part of the life of this blog trying to answer what sounds like a simple question: Where are crops actually grown?

In Where do bananas grow anyway?, for example, I compared several supposedly authoritative maps of banana distribution and found that they disagreed in all sorts of interesting ways. That was followed by Yes, we have more banana distribution data, which summarized the discussion that followed that post and tried to tie up some loose ends. I dread to think how many of those datasets are still available.

Why bother, you may ask? Well, because knowing where a crop can be found is necessary if genebanks want to plan gap-filling collecting: map where the crop is grown, subtract what the genebanks already have, and explore the gaps. Alas, the reality was rather less tidy, hence Gap-filling may be harder than we thought. Tell me about it.

I kept returning to the problem, though. In The geography of black rice, I wrestled with the practical business of joining passport and characterization data just to get diversity onto a map. In Ground-truthing SPAM, a global crop-distribution model confidently put crops on my mother-in-law’s farm that she and her neighbours didn’t actually grow. Bambara groundnut produced another set of contradictory maps.

Years later, the tools were a bit better: I explored Afghan wheat in QGIS, and overlaid Kenyan bean accessions on a new crop atlas.

And by earlier this year Colin Khoury was able to summarize the whole historical trajectory of gap analysis in a guest post. A trick he then repeated elsewhere.

Looking back over all these endeavours, what strikes me is how often the answer seemed to be just one step away. A better crop map, better coordinates, a more complete genebank database, a cleverer GIS analysis. And each time the new thing helped, but also exposed another problem: the crop map was wrong here, the accession wasn’t georeferenced there, or the apparent gap didn’t mean what we thought it meant. I guess that’s science.

A lot has changed since I started writing about this problem, but the basic challenge remains. We want to know where diversity is, where it might be missing, and where it is worth looking for more. Getting all the relevant data into the same map is only the beginning, but it needs to be done. There’s more data now, and making maps is easier to do. But, unless you’re a GIS expert, it’s still way too hard.

Good news from Beltsville?

After the recent worrying announcement about the USDA closing the Beltsville Agricultural Research Center, there may now be some good news. US Secretary of Agriculture Brooke Rollins has just announced a $180 million Seed Sovereignty Initiative to genotype collections of “major crops” in the National Plant Germplasm System, which holds more than 600,000 accessions of over 16,000 species. The two-year programme aims to reveal useful traits, identify gaps in the collections, and accelerate the development of new varieties. That’s a substantial investment in resources that are all too often taken for granted.

But the language is worth a closer look. This is framed as a matter of seed sovereignty and national security: the United States must not depend on “foreign adversaries” for its agricultural production, while foreign competitors are busy sequencing genetic resources. The emphasis is on turning America’s crop diversity collections, which are in the Multilateral System of the Plant Treaty, into a strategic national asset, and giving American farmers a competitive advantage.

None of that makes the investment unwelcome. Better genetic characterization could benefit researchers and breeders well beyond the United States, provided the resulting information is accessible. And understanding what genebanks hold, and what remains missing, is precisely the sort of work that should have been a priority all along.

Still, there is a difference between recognizing the strategic importance of crop diversity and treating it as a weapon in geopolitical competition. Will this initiative strengthen the shared knowledge base on which global crop improvement depends, or will national advantage determine what gets studied, shared and used? The $180 million investment is good news. The rhetoric, and the priorities it may signal, deserve rather more scrutiny.

The chocolate formerly known as lost

The Quest to Save the World’s Most Coveted Chocolate is an engaging story in Smithsonian Magazine about Ecuador’s ancient, iconic Nacional cacao. It was published three years ago, but I only just came across it. It rang a bell, so I went back through the archive. And there was lots more there than I suspected. Again in celebration of our twentieth anniversary, let’s go through it.

It all started in 2009, when Jeremy first described how witches’ broom had devastated Nacional cultivation in the early 1900s, how breeders responded, and how farmers eventually widely adopted the more productive and resistant, but much less tasty, new variety known as CCN51. Nacional basically disappeared.

But not totally. In 2011, we Nibbled the rediscovery of Nacional populations in northern Peru by a USDA team, as reported in the N.Y. Times. A glimmer of hope, perhaps?

In 2015, Jeremy returned to the story. We learned that more than half of Ecuador’s cacao trees were then CCN51, which of course made the industry again vulnerable to the next disease. And, even worse, that the chocolate they produced tasted like “rusty nails.”

But now — thankfully — comes a much happier chapter, nicely described in the Smithsonian piece.

Encouraged by the discovery of Nacional in Peru, a motley crew of conservationists, chocolate makers and agricultural scientists went looking for it in Ecuador. In 2013, they found a grove of century-old trees in a coastal valley called Piedra de Plata. DNA showed that nine of 47 trees they sampled were genetically pure Nacional. They established them in a field genebank in 2018, and started producing planting material for interested local farmers.

More than 30 families are now working … to reforest their lands using seedlings from the nearly extinct tree. The rebirth of this once-lost treasure isn’t just a miracle for the chocolate-loving world — it’s also a milestone in reviving the rich heritage of Ecuador’s coastal forests and farming. And it may even offer hope for saving other endangered trees worldwide.

The plan was that within three years the nursery would be producing 5,000 Nacional seedlings annually. That would be about now. Alas, I was not able to find an update, but I do hope they’re on track.

The moral? Conservation pays — especially when what you’re conserving makes chocolate that doesn’t taste like rusty nails.

There’s gold in that thar rice story

Carolina Gold is another one of those stories that we kept coming back to, and that I now want to recap as part of our anniversary celebrations.

Before the U.S. Civil War, Carolina Gold was the dominant rice of the South Carolina Lowcountry, grown on vast plantations by enslaved Africans and generating much of Charleston’s wealth. The war, emancipation and a series of hurricanes then shattered that cruel system; commercial plantings dwindled and the last U.S. harvest is usually dated to 1927. But that wasn’t the end of the story, as it turns out.

I first wrote about the variety in 2007, asking where it had actually come from. New genetic evidence from a USDA study complicated the conventional story that it had arrived from Madagascar, pointing instead toward a West African source that fit rather better with the history of the transatlantic slave trade. Check out the string of comments on the post too.

I came back to the story in 2010, linking to an IRRI piece about how cultivation was revived in Carolina thanks to — wait for it — genebank samples. In 2016, there was an update on the revival. And then friend-of-the-blog Mike Jackson picked up the thread in 2017 with an account of “Civil War destruction … genebank redemption”.

He did us all a great service by telling the whole story in detail all in one place: the decline of rice cultivation after the Civil War, Carolina Gold’s near-disappearance, and its rescue when Savannah doctor Richard Schulze discovered seed in the USDA collection. Fourteen pounds supplied to Schulze eventually became 10,000 pounds by 1988. Mike checked Genesys and found 19 accessions carrying the Carolina Gold name, raising the next questions: how different are they, and which one was actually used for the rescue?

Along the way, I actually tasted the stuff! And Jeremy found a film featuring it.

By 2018, Carolina Gold had become the precedent for the comeback of another “lost” rice, this time in Trinidad.

For a blog about agricultural biodiversity, Carolina Gold, with its origin debates, near‑extinction, and then real‑world use of what genebanks kept alive, really is a near‑perfect subject. Can you find others in our archive?

Not so plain vanilla

There’s a great interview on the History Extra podcast with Prof. Eric T. Jennings about his book Vanilla: The History of an Extraordinary Bean. It really is a fascinating story, and you get quite a lot of it in the half hour of the pod. If it whets your appetite, as it were, you could do worse than follow it with the global conservation strategy for the crop. One quibble, though. The source of vanilla is definitely not the only edible orchid, as anyone who has had saleb will know full well.