The seed man

At 99, Ed Peterson is the Chapter's oldest member--but he'd still go out seed collecting if you asked

By Dominique Dibbell

Why is the Southern Sierran called the Southern Sierran?

Ed Peterson

Ask Ed Peterson, at 99 the Angeles Chapter’s oldest member. In the late 40s, legendary volunteer Irene Charnok told him the Chapter was about to launch a newsletter and was having a contest to come up with a name. The winner of the contest would receive a lifetime subscription. Peterson won.

“[The name] came to me immediately,” he said. “We were all Sierrans and we were in the south part of the state, so it just seemed natural to come out with it.” It turns out the name seemed natural to two others, but he submitted his idea first and won out. The first issue came out in 1946. He is still receiving the Southern Sierran, though now nearly blind, he must have a friend read it to him.

Peterson began participating in Sierra Club activities in the mid 30s, officially becoming a member in 1941. He was active in the Nature Study Group (which would later become the Natural Science Section), the Hundred Peaks and Desert Peaks sections, and on the Executive Committee.

He sees the seeds

A lifelong lover of plants, in the mid 60s he started the seed department at the Theodore Payne Foundation, an organization dedicated to the understanding and preservation of California native flora. Peterson would go out into the wild, for many years by himself, and collect the seeds of native wildflowers and shrubs, which he then cleaned and sold. In 1994 he was joined by Holliday Wagner, the former director of the Payne Foundation, and for many years the middle-aged woman and much older man were the seed department.

“Ed was 89 and I was in my early 40s,” said Wagner of their early days together. “The first time we went out camping, he said we needed a chaperone.” Wagner tried to persuade Peterson that such a precaution was not necessary, but he was adamant. The chaperone turned out to be full of complaints about the inconveniences of camping, but Wagner fit right in. “I think Ed wanted to know if he’d have to take care of me,” said Wagner. “After that we never had a chaperone.”

Peterson’s last seed-collecting outing was in August of 2003, where, as usual, he slept on the ground, in the open air—though now he concedes a foam pad and down sleeping bag. He describes tents as a “nuisance.”

“If I had the opportunity with my friends to collect seeds, I’d go out with them again,” he said.

Photo by John Nienhuis Peterson with Natural Science Section friends in 1956.

Orange groves and trollies

Peterson was born in Los Angeles and raised in Hollywood, where he still resides. He recalls Southern California as a pleasant place to live back then, with no crowds and clean air resplendent with the scent of orange blossoms.

“Very few people owned a car,” he said. “The only way to leave Hollywood virtually was to take the trolley car.” But then, there was rarely any need to leave his bucolic burg. “Unless I needed a pair of dress shoes,” he noted. “Then my mother would take me down to the city.”

The son of a tailor and Iowa farm girl, Peterson majored in botany at UCLA, and worked his whole career as landscape gardener for L.A. City College.

He developed a love of the mountains on a visit to Idyllwild as a boy. Often in the company of his three brothers, Peterson made numerous outings to the local mountains, sleeping on the ground in army surplus blankets. He followed his younger brother Richard into the Sierra Club.

Until 1971, in order to join the Club one had to have the recommendation of two members. “I was quite quiet and it took some time before I became a member,” said Peterson.

Early outings

Peterson went on Club outings almost weekly, and would meet with other members Friday nights at Clifton’s Cafeteria downtown, where the Sierra Club had the upstairs reserved. The Evening Dinners Committee dissolved in 1997.

As now, members would carpool into the local mountains and stick to the trails. Unlike now, there was no gear designed especially for recreational hiking; most of their equipment came from army surplus. Peterson recalls a store on Main Street that sold World War I gear. “They had high shoes for many years that sold for $5. I bought one pair after another.”

Peterson has witnessed tremendous changes in the Club over the years, most notably the growth in membership and the widening of purpose. He approves of the changes. “It’s hard to separate the different phases of conservation,” he said. “They’re not isolated. As someone said, everything in the world is related to everything else.”

Peterson has never smoked a cigarette in his life, nor does he drink, and he tries to eat as experts advise. But in the end, the practical botanist chalks up his longevity to genes. “I think they account for more than 40 percent in my case.”

While the Sierra Club may not be the secret to his long life, it may have had something to do with its being a happy one. “I made some very good friends in the Club. I think most of them are gone now. But I enjoyed a good many of them.”

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