I grew some decent Bells of Ireland this year. Which isn’t an easy thing to do, as it turns out. They have always fascinated me, they’re unlike anything else. The flowers are the tiny white inside of papery bells arranged in clusters around the stem. The plant is in the mint family and native to western Asia. I’ve always thought the scent is reminiscent of Irish Spring Soap. Or green apples. I’ve been growing things from seed for a long time. About 25 years. But this is the first time I’ve ever grown some nice looking Bells of Ireland. I’ve tried before, but they were scrawny or too few in number to use. So this winter I did some research. I discovered they are in fact finicky and tricky. And slow. I froze the seed to break the seed coat. I tried the wet paper towel on a heat mat trick to break dormancy, transplanting individual sprouts into a flat. Although after germinating they don’t like the heat. 50-60 degree growing temperature is best during all stages of growth. I had to find a zone in my house that was just right. They also don’t like being root bound, so it’s a gamble as to when to trick them into growing in late winter in order to plant out in spring. If it gets too hot and too late, they will grow teeny flowers on short stems. I bought a lot of seeds. I had some setbacks and some success and kept sowing successions of them. I got about 35 plants. I planted them out early. Earlier than intuition tells you. It’s been a cool summer. That’s been helpful. I cut the first flowers in mid-July. I marveled and was filled with a satisfaction that was so complete it surprised me. The sight of the plants growing sizable, usable stems seemed to deliver me to an unexpected place that felt like a form of arrival. Of sorts. Like something hard won. Not just in terms of the tricky plants, but that was part of it. Like a quality of being was tied up in it. Then I remembered Susan Bill.
I met Susan Bill in the summer of 2000 on Lopez Island, Washington. She was a flower farmer somewhere in her 50’s. Or maybe late 40’s. I was only 23 at the time and everyone I met that was older than me was a real adult, age was irrelavant, and I was an intern, just out of college. I was working for the Lopez Community Land Trust on a 6 month stay on the island. My project was a recipe book featuring local growers and their favorite seasonal recipes containing local foods. I ventured out to Susan Bill’s place one day for an interview and found her in the middle of a harvest day, a whole team of helpers milling around, with her at the center trying to coral the effort. I finally flagged her down, asking for a few minutes for my project. She was sweeping in her mannerisms, weathered by the sun, and wore a big sun hat. She was direct, funny and extremely succinct. I liked her immediately. She had a way of making you feel like if she was giving you a few minutes of her time, you better listen up. When I asked her about her favorite recipes she didn’t hesitate. She went right to apples. Being in Washington state, it was a bit of a given for most people. While she talked she interrupted herself multiple times to shout instructions to her crew. Having grown up on Lopez island, and growing a lot of apples herself, apples reminded her of her parents. Specifically, Apple Brown Betty. She told me that her mother, Sally Bill, always said the only reason that her father, Sandy Bill, married her was for her Apple Brown Betty. A weird dessert that’s basically apples, butter, bread crumbs and sugar. Susan’s family loved it though. I pulled out my camera and asked to take her picture. She hesitated at this, but looked at the huge bunch of Bells of Ireland in her arms, clutched them a little tighter, and looked out into the field. I snapped her photo.
That was it. I never saw her again, we never became friends. I left the island a couple of months later and have never been back. When I look at the photo now I can't be certain that she's actually holding Bells of Ireland at all. It's too blury to tell. I think maybe the flower is bupleureum. Because I know more plants now, and I doubt my memory. In my mind though, it has always been the bells. She and the Bells of Ireland are inextricably linked. Her character and that flower. That is what it became for me. It was just
a small moment when I was a young woman. A short conversation for my internship project. I never made the recipe. It wasn’t until I had my Bells of Ireland in my bucket that I felt the connection. To that moment. To the impact her presence had on me right then. This dignified woman in her 40’s or 50’s. Her grace, style, commanding and warm spirit to my young mind, still taking everything in. How we carry tiny moments with us throughout our lives, sometimes unknowingly, that run scripts in the background, telling us who to become, what to strive for, what to value. Just a blip really. And 25 years later, I feel like some small part of me has been reaching for the character of Susan Bill. To be in my 40’s and be weathered and warm, to be holding a beautiful armful of Bells of Ireland, those strange flowers that smell like Irish Spring soap, as I told my story to a young stranger.
