When this article first appeared, Meyer Seed Company was over 100 years old. Unfortunately, the business closed in 2021. The location is to be developed into an apartment/retail space.

Like the countless seeds the Meyer Seed Company has sold over the past hundred years, the story of this long-running legacy business starts with water. Before he held a seed bucket or a watering can, the company鈥檚 founder, John F. Meyer, worked as a sailor, eventually becoming first officer of the schooner Katie J. Irelan. On September 22, 1897, on a voyage carrying scrap iron from Baltimore to Wilmington, North Carolina, a severe storm swamped the ship. Another ship struggling through the storm spotted the Katie J. Irelan in distress and rescued Meyer and his crewmates less than two hours before the 708-ton ship sank into the ocean. Meyer retired from sailing the next year. Later, Meyer fondly recalled the eleven years he spent on the 鈥渁dventurous yet hard life鈥� at sea before he 鈥渄rifted back to Baltimore and decided to stick to dry land.鈥� Meyer started selling seeds for the long-established Bolgiano Seed Company at the northeast corner of Pratt and Light Streets. In September 1910, he partnered with German immigrant G.W. Stisser to form the Meyer-Stisser Seed Company initially located at 32 Light Street. After the end of World War I, Stisser returned to Germany so, in 1921, Meyer bought out his interest in the business. By 1927, the business boasted a proud motto: 鈥淪terling quality, courteous treatment and punctuality.鈥� Meyer鈥檚 assistant, Webster Hurst, Sr., bought out Meyer (but kept the name) in the 1930s. Today, three successive generations of the Hurst family have continued to run the company and devote their lives to selling seeds. Apparently, the seed business is as much about cultivating people as plants. At least two of the current employees have been with the company for over thirty years. Charles Pearre, a former employee, worked for over fifty years selling and developing seeds. In addition, there are even customers who have bought Meyer Seed for multiple generations. Meyer Seed is now located in a nondescript warehouse on Caroline Street between Harbor East and Fells Point. Stepping inside, however, offers a rare sight鈥攈undreds of varieties of seeds displayed in big banks of wooden drawers and long rows of bins used by countless customers over the decades.The company鈥檚 wide variety of seeds for sale has helped Meyer Seed compete with 鈥渂ig box鈥� stores that don鈥檛 offer nearly the same range of options for gardeners. Meyer Seed has been around long enough to see some of their seeds rise and fall in popularity. After the 鈥淟ong John鈥� melon was developed in Anne Arundel, County, Meyer Seed was the first company to start selling the melon鈥檚 seeds in 1930. But, in the decades after World War II, very few farmers or gardeners planted what are now known as 鈥渉eirloom鈥� plant varieties like the Long John melon. Fortunately, in 2004, David Pendergrass of the New Hope Seed Company in Tennessee learned of the long defunct melon and obtained some starter seeds from the USDA. The plants grew and Pendergrass reintroduced the melon to the world in 2007. Whether it鈥檚 seeds for heirloom melons or cutting edge organic gardening seeds, for over one hundred years, Meyer Seed remains at the center of Baltimore鈥檚 seed world.

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The ordinary or quotidian in architecture often masks the unique, especially if time serves to dull the patina of something鈥檚 newness. St. Philip鈥檚 Lutheran Church is case-in-point: a faded Modernist gem, the church nevertheless embodies the remarkable story of its congregation鈥檚 persistence.

Now in its sixth decade, the St. Philip鈥檚 edifice still serves the vibrant community that built it, despite the exigencies of Baltimore鈥檚 history over the years since the building鈥檚 dedication in 1958.

Home to the nation鈥檚 second-oldest African American Lutheran congregation, St. Philip鈥檚 is also the first church in America to be built under the auspices of urban renewal. Accordingly, its design reflects both church-goers鈥� rapidly-changing expectations in the years after World War II and city planners鈥� embrace of modernist planning solutions. Set back from the street and moderately scaled鈥攍ike a suburban house鈥擲t. Philip鈥檚 Lutheran Church reflects mostly the ideas of its pastor at the time, the Rev. Francis B. Smith. Congregational lore and extant sketches by Rev. Smith attest to his direct involvement in the building鈥檚 design; the architect, Frederic Moehle, seems mostly to have translated Rev. Smith鈥檚 directions into the final, three-dimensional form.

Despite its modest exterior, St. Philip鈥檚 created considerable architectural drama within. Alone among Baltimore鈥檚 contemporary religious buildings, St. Philip鈥檚 low ceiling is illuminated extensively by continuous, floor-to-ceiling windows along both sides. An extensive clerestory window (now, unfortunately, covered over) washed the altar and its podium with 鈥渋neffable light.鈥� Otherwise, the original finishes of the church interior were entirely consistent with the Modernist鈥檚 creed: unfinished block and brick masonry (stacked bond), naturally-finished wood, linoleum tile floor, and serene abstraction throughout the space.

Rev. Smith and the St. Philip鈥檚 congregation fought hard to wrest those qualities from the City鈥檚 鈥淯rban Renewal Plan 3-A鈥� 鈥� a.k.a. the 鈥淏roadway Redevelopment Plan鈥� 鈥� laid out by architect Alex Cochran and first announced publicly in 1950. St. Philip鈥檚 had occupied a historic structure on Eden Street, designated by Plan 3-A to be demolished and appropriated for Dunbar High School鈥檚 expanded athletic fields. No provision was made in Cochran鈥檚 original plan to relocate St. Philip鈥檚, but a decade of persistent negotiation between Rev. Smith and Baltimore鈥檚 Redevelopment Commission resulted in the congregation鈥檚 purchase of the present site on Caroline Street. Construction proceeded apace, a year before Cochran鈥檚 own celebrated design for the nearby Church of Our Savior (now demolished) could begin.

Recent changes have tarnished St. Philip鈥檚 architectural shine: roof-top AC units, faux-wood paneling, 鈥渢raditional鈥� chandeliers, and much-needed heat-resistant glazing. An addition at the south-east corner provided accessibility for the disabled. But the building is still substantially the building it was in 1958. Especially on the exterior, the church鈥檚 bulk and orientation still express an ease belied only by Johns Hopkins Hospital鈥檚 looming physical presence immediately to the east. What appears 鈥渜uotidian鈥� is, therefore, merely that superficial change wrought by time; what is of interest at St. Philip鈥檚 remains entirely present, if just below the surface.

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