Gardening is in my Genes – A love letter to my mother
Susan Bassett at Bioneers in 2017. Photo by Laura Bassett
This week we’re going to do a bit of a different type of blog. This is part origin story and mostly daughter’s stories of her mother in the garden.
I’m the only child of a single mom, one of the things we share, and love is gardening and nature. I had one of the most magical childhoods anyone could have wished for. My mom is an amazing storyteller, so today I’m going to share a few of the stories I grew up hearing from her and many I love telling.
She’s currently fighting for her life, so today goes out to her.
Susan Bassett as a toddler with her grandmother. Photo by Unknown.
My mother’s love of gardening started with my great-grandmother, Vava. She was a first-generation immigrant from the Azores in Portugal. She brought with her on the boat from the old country, five children, cuttings from her favorite lilac bush, her favorite wine grapes and seeds tucked into pockets. Vava, and my great-grandfather had a dairy farm in the Central Valley. My grandma was born there and then moved to San Fransico where she met my grandfather. They moved back to a farm for a few years. Those years were my mom’s fondest memories of her childhood. My mother played among the chickens, picked vegetables and soaked up all the knowledge form her grandmother.
The funniest story from this era was when she was a toddler. Mom loved to run next door and chase the Mrs. Bacoonian’s turkeys. The neighbor was not pleased, so that Thanksgiving when the family got their turkey, she left in all the pin feathers. My mom vividly remembers her grandmother picking feathers from the bird and muttering in Portuguese while glancing my mom’s way.
Another story I love, is about how my great-grandmother obtained her plant starts. Vava would go down the road with a little set of pruners and her apron snipping branches from neighbor’s front yards. Back then there weren’t easily accessible nurseries and home depots to buy plants from. She was resourceful, and a bit of a gorilla gardener.
Susan Bassett in her rooftop garden in Berkeley, CA. Photographer Unknown
As a young adult my mom lived in Berkley had a little rooftop garden. The first time she went into a grocery store asking for Trochunda and got a blank stare she realized the kale her grandmother grew was very different than the one in the store. Just a handful of years ago, we found a packet of it and she’s been growing this sweet kale variety in her own garden.
My mom always had a little garden, she lived on a sailboat while commuting to a corporate job in the city. They had a vibrant community garden at Port Sonoma. When she met my dad and they bought their first house she didn’t have a lot of space but bought a beautiful rose that I remember growing up with. Before I remember he left our lives, and it was just the two of us digging our way through life together.
Laura at two in a tree. Photo by Susan Bassett
As a toddler the lady who would come to watch me when my mom needed to travel for work was into permaculture. This started us double-digging. As my mom tells the story, she came home from a long trip to find Sherry and I had dug up the lawn and planted large long rows of mounded earth with vegetables. I’ll I know is every home we live in has ended up with a large vegetable garden. My favorite would have to be the one here in Sonoma when I was eight. My mom planted a central room of sunflowers for me to use as a fort.
She worked from home so I grew up outdoors, I’d always on some adventure acting out a story I’d created. One of my friends lived on a parallel street but instead of walking there by normal means, I found a loose board in the fence. Trail blazing a way through the sheep pasture to his house. Another poignant moment was when my mom had to rescue me from the backyard. I was trapped in my rainboots, stuck in the glue of adobe clay under a good foot of water. I think my one boot stayed out there for a year or more. It was at this house I fell in love with the smell of our California Buckeye Trees flowers and the soft flowers of the Mimosa tree.
Laura Bassett holding her pet rooster dotcom. Photo by Susan Bassett
Later, we moved to Sebastopol, there my mom and I created a fifty-foot diameter lasagna method vegetable garden. At this point my love of roses grew to epic proportions. My mom would let me pick out a bare root rose or two when we’d visit a nursery in the winter. Over the course of three to four years I amassed an epic collection of fifty unique roses. I became very scientific; I would apply fertilizer on a weekly basis (YIKES) and then do a count of the buds and blooms on each. What I wouldn’t give to have kept those notes and look back at them now.
We lived near Ragel Ranch Park and I spent all of my time riding my bike or counting rose buds, I was out in the seasonal wetlands next door. It was so magical seeing the changes as the rains started and the fields turned into ponds. Hiking down the dry creek in the summer to see how it’d changed or what treasures had caught on the roots the winter before.
This was also when I started “working” in gardening for the first time. The neighbor would let me have my horses in the pasture if I helped her around her garden. I learned how obnoxious bind weed is to get out, I also learned how to root penstemon cuttings. Then by chance a cowboy friend of the neighbors dropped off his three horses and left them there with mine. This is how I ended up taking care of a herd of horses. My mom supporting me as always learned we could fit a hay bale in the back of our Honda accord.
Susan Bassett on Kelly’s Point, Guemes Island Washington. Photo by Laura Bassett
Then a big transition in my life happened. My mom and I moved up to a tiny little island in Washington State. Yes, in case you’re wondering we took most of the roses with us. Starting the crazy Californian rumors before we even arrived on island. And so, the tale of my epic rose collection started a slow decline. Anyone that knows roses can tell you moisture, shade and plants that were already hopped up on copious amounts of fertilizer isn’t a great recipe for success.
Fifteen years later, three had survived the brutal winters, the black spot and powdery mildew and occasional rogue dear that got inside the fence. Hot Cocoa, Mutabilis and Joseph’s Coat are the varieties that made it. Along with a very vigorous Cecil Brunner that came with the house. Now that I’m back in Sonoma, I restarted my collection with Hot Cocoa as a nod to that amazing rose that survived going north.
While on the island in Washington I was lucky enough to live right down the road from my grandfather. I got to help him build fences, split wood and mow acres of lawn. I’d help my grandmother with her Japanese pines and little beds around the house. Our neighbor taught me to build decks, rototill gardens and pick apples using the bucket of Kubota for a ladder.
This is where I officially started my business. While in high school had a dozen wonderful ladies on the island who would hire me to help them out in the garden. I learned each person has different preferences, styles and knowledge. One lady had gooseberry bushes and had recently had saltwater intrusion so most things wouldn’t grow in her soil anymore. Another only left me lists using the Latin names of plants. Each taught me so much about gardening, responsibility and the joy of helping others.
Hot Cocoa Rose that survived Washington. Photo by Laura Bassett.
So I’d like to finish this special blog with a little thank you to my mother. I am so lucky to grow up with these stories of our family. She not only raised me to love gardening, but she always supports my various projects and passions. Without her hard work, support and love I wouldn’t be the person I am today. I’m so grateful.
Thank you reader for letting me share these precious stories with you <3
