Hoping for a Girl Named Broccoli

A friend just gave birth to a baby named Violet, much to the delight of all. A floral name conveys instant charm on a little girl, which is why the world is full of Heathers, Lilies and Roses. We have all encountered Daphnes, Jasmines, Irises, Daisies and Laurels. There are even Primroses, Poppies and Posies. But you're unlikely to meet a little Cauliflower, Parsnip or Potato.

Edibles are not altogether out of the running at naming time. There are plenty of Rosemaries, a few Cherries, the odd Sage. But maybe vegetables are a bit too earthy for girls. Calling one a tomato is a far less dignified compliment than calling her a peach.

Earthiness is what makes vegetables wonderful, of course, and it's high time we all recognized that. Last week I had the occasion to compile a list of gardening societies in North America. I counted hundreds, and among them dozens were devoted to the worship of a single flower. I found a society for those who adore daffodils, and others for azaleas, peonies, hydrangeas, camellias, clematis, daylilies and pinks. There was scarcely a blossom that didn't rate its own fan club. But when it came to vegetables I saw nothing comparable. There were associations dedicated to individual crops, from artichokes to onions, but they were all trade groups -- a reminder that our food supply is still in the cradle of industry.

It's not that vegetables don't generate their own buzz. At farmers markets, cooks gush over the gorgeous heirloom tomatoes or debate the merits of the Charlotte potato as compared with the Carola or the La Ratte. I predict that as soon as foodies move from shopping to growing, the fan clubs will form.

There is enough worldwide diversity just among the dried beans and the hot peppers to keep bloggers going for generations to come. In my recent search, I was glad to see an uptick in the number of groups that preserve and swap old vegetable seed varieties.

The windowsills of my city friends have started to sprout more arugula, more basil, more cut-and-come-again lettuce. Each suburban pioneer who carves out a new garden plot gives me hope that vegetables are once again on the march among the homemakers of America, and I will truly believe it when they name their daughters Celery.