Okra intrigued me as a child. My classmates had never eaten it -- betraying our northeastern roots where the plant would have struggled to survive, and the pods weren't part of our regional fare. But when my family went to Cracker Barrel on Sunday afternoons, I'd always order a side of the curious, deep-fried pods with their mucilaginous texture and odd, little balls of seeds. It was the sort of food that was supposed to go with collard greens, and biscuits and gravy -- foods that evoked hot, rural locations far from my birthplace. Perhaps that novelty was why I ordered it.

Now, I live in the Ozarks, and though I never saw an okra plant until I grew one myself seven years ago, I knew it would be a fixture of my gardens for years to come. I adored its unkempt, tree-like sprawl, heat-tolerant constitution, unexpectedly beautiful hibiscus-like flowers and, best of all, abundant pods that go so well in soups, stir-fries, curries, and (of course) breaded with cornmeal to fry. Okra is a generous plant as well, pushing out pod after pod through the sweltering summer.

If you like okra as much as I do, the best thing to do is grow it yourself. But perhaps the second most important thing to do is to learn how to save your own seeds so your okra garden is self-sustaining. For the beginning seed-saver, okra is an easy, fun plant to work with, offering nearly immediate results with little extra effort.

Here's how to get started.

That tender, wonderful tasting okra that we enjoy eating is really an immature seed pod, which means any okra you buy in the supermarket or farmers market is far too young to use for seed-saving. In order to have access to mature okra seeds, you have to grow the plants.

Warm-weather-loving okra is easy to grow in areas with enough summery temps to suit its tropical tastes. I have no problem growing it in the Ozarks, and neither should anyone south of me. North of my rolling mountains, you'll have to see for yourself if it'll flourish.

Even though okra's large, showy blooms are self-pollinating, they are a magnet for hungry bumblebees and honeybees. That means, okra can be easily crossed with any nearby okra. To save seed that's true-to-type, you can either grow one variety of okra (which is the easiest route) to practice isolating blossoms with insect-excluding mesh bags (which really shouldn't be too much trouble). Or, according to some seed saving resources, grow several varieties at least one-eighth mile apart from each other (which is impossible for most of us).

Then, all that remains to do is sit back and let this hardy, drought-tolerant plant do its thing.

When summer gets going, so does okra production. And as with many plants, the more okra you harvest, the more blooms and pods a plant will produce. My personal approach is to try and harvest as much okra as possible early in the summer, knowing that inevitably, I'll miss a pod or five and they'll get too mature to harvest as food.

You'll know that point has passed when the pods are full size (whatever size that is depends on the variety, of course), and feel a bit like folded cardboard when you squeeze them -- with gloves on, because they'll prick you -- rather than having the slight give of still-tender okra. Whenever or if ever that happens, I let those pods go as my "seed" pods. For a good genetic mix, make sure you save pods from at least six different plants. The more different individuals you can save from, the better.

I let my seed okra pods linger on the plant until they begin to split -- sometimes, they'll still be green when this happens. Then, with some garden shears, cut them from the plant and bring them indoors to finish drying away from direct sunlight. Leave the ripe pods on the plant too long, and they'll totally split open and drop their precious seeds to the dirt before you can gather them.

Now I confess, I have a hard time allowing pods to ripen fully when okra production is at its peak -- I want to eat those pods! As such, I sometimes find myself scrambling to actually get some finished pods when frost looms. Two years ago, I accidentally let my seed-okra pods freeze on the plants before they were ripe. The frost-tender plants died that night, of course, and their pods, though I allowed them to dry fully, only yielded unripe, mold-kissed seeds. Boo.

This year, however, I tried an experiment to extend my ripening window, just to see if I could have my okra and eat it too, so to speak. I'm pleased to say that the experiment worked, and it gave me a full extra month of ripening time after the first frost.

The evening that frost was threatening to come, I pulled up my entire seed-pod-bearing okra plants, roots and all, and placed them in a 5-gallon bucket of water. I moved the exceedingly awkward, unkempt flower arrangement into my house and placed it near a window. The okra lived, and though the leaves went limp, it went on to grow new flowers, new leaves, and finish the seed pods that were yet unripened. If you find yourself in a similar situation, I hope this tip can help you turn a frosty night away from disaster into a successful seed harvest.

Though you should try to harvest seed pods that have begun to split, fully mature, still-green pods can yield mature seeds. Whatever state you harvest your okra, the pods will need a bit more time to completely dry. Place the prickly seed pod harvest in an airy basket or on a kitchen counter, out of the sun, until they have completely, utterly dried, and lost any hint of a green color. Every lobe of the seed pod should start splitting at this point, and seeds will start to fall out on their own.

All there is to do now is to open the lobes, and allow the pebbly, dark-green seeds to fall out freely. You may need to wear gloves during this final stage, as the okra pods will not have lost their prickly, irritating qualities in drying -- if anything, they get even more uncomfortably finger-stabby.

Despite my best efforts, I always seem to have a pod or two explode on me, sending seeds skittering across my kitchen table. I recommend either opening the pods over a big bowl or into a bag. If you have lots of pods, you can put them in a pillowcase, rubber band it shut, and stomp your stress away to free the seeds (with shoes on -- again, prickle-stabbed feet are decidedly stress-adding).

Once all the seeds have been freed from their pods, place them in an envelope, jar, or baggie, and label with the variety name and year of harvest. If they are stored in a cool, dry location, at least half of them should still be viable after five years. Of course, you shouldn't wait five years to plant them again if you can help it.

Like most plants, okra is incredibly generous. One pod can easily yield dozens of seeds, and when you multiply that by at least six (or more) pods, it's likely that you're going to end up with more seeds than you can possibly plant the next growing season. I have read that a few decades ago, certain types of okra seeds were roasted and ground into a coffee substitute -- but I've never tried it. I'd be curious to hear from anyone who has brewed up a good okra-cuppa.

Beyond alternative coffee, the best thing to do with a surplus of seeds is to see if you can share them with others. Find out if your neighbors, family, friends, or anyone at work is interested in also growing seeds. Sometimes, a nascent gardener is awoken with a bit of encouragement and some freely given seeds.

The whole point of this endeavor in the end, however, is to get last year's seeds into the soil to start the cycle anew. And as you plant your own seeds in your own soil, you'll feel the sort of subtle, sweet satisfaction that only seed-savers can savor. I hope this article has equipped you with knowledge, and encouraged you to declare okra seed independence.

Are there any seed-savers out there who have saved okra? Do you still bare-hand the pods like I do -- not learning your lesson? What's your favorite type to grow? Let us know in the comments below!