I used to spend school holidays with my grandparents. I remember complaining to Nonno once that I was bored (you can only watch Girls Just Want To Have Fun so many times) and he took my hand and led me out to the garden. He then handed me a hoe and said, “Cominci.” Start.
Just like that, we got to work.
Weeds were not safe in Nonno’s garden. A serious gardener, he showed me how to hoe between the rows of tomatoes avoiding the lettuces. The soil, when turned, was a darker colour and smelled rich and fresh. I still love the smell of freshly tilled soil. That afternoon, after some productive time in the hot sun, Nonno handed me a glass of lukewarm lemon cordial. It was the most delicious drink I had ever tasted. I can still taste it now.
Both my nonnos were prolific producers of homegrown produce. Their backyards pumped out edible treasures, fence to fence
Both my nonnos were prolific producers of homegrown produce. Their backyards pumped out edible treasures, fence to fence. They were never without sun-kissed citrus, fresh silverbeet, lettuce, earthy onions and garlic. When the seasons turned, there would be peas, figs, tomatoes, zucchini, cucumbers, eggplant, chilli, stone fruits, nespoli, radicchio and basil. If there was a fruit, vegetable or herb that they liked to eat — they grew it.
Gardening was second nature to my nonnos. Growing up poor in Italy, they learnt young that to grow your own food was the best way to not go hungry. As a child I absorbed this lesson. As a teenager I rebelled against it. But moving into a share house in my early 20s that had a veggie garden got me right back into the practice and I have had a large productive garden ever since, complete with chickens and bees.
I now garden like my nonnos taught me. It keeps me in a ready supply of delicious food, and costs me next to nothing. From them, I inherited the art of home composting systems, how to keep chooks and a “re-use everything” mentality. They also taught me how to save my own seeds and use homemade fertilisers.
I now plant and save seeds of broad beans, tomatoes and lettuce that were originally given to me by Nonno Vincenzo about 20 years ago. I know I could buy these seeds if I ever needed to but their provenance makes them precious. I have many of his gardening tools. I keep them clean and sharp. I rub linseed oil into the wooden handles. I hoe my soil as he taught me. I prune my fruit trees to his instruction.
Both my nonnos are now dead but in this way, they live on. I am deeply aware that the sweat of my nonno is embedded in the shovel handle I now use to dig
Both my nonnos are now dead but in this way, they live on. I am deeply aware that the sweat of my nonno is embedded in the shovel handle I now use to dig. I carry on tasks they began when they were young. As I plant a tiny tomato seed on a cold August day, I know my nonnos would have done the same thing many, many times.
My nonnos taught me to look at anything and think of a potential use for it. These men threw away so little. Having come to Australia with basically nothing, they valued things that seemed to have no value. Milk cartons were precious. Empty margarine containers were a storage solution. They fixed anything that needed repair. They cared for the objects they owned. I always admired this about my nonnos. They taught me that even when it felt like I had nothing, if I just looked at things differently I would see I was, in fact — lucky and rich.
We inherit so much from our families. But with time and displacement, disease and death, so much can be lost. I garden like my nonnos because it’s a direct link to them. They showed that a comprehensive seed bank is a kind of wealth. Their knowledge of how to care for soil, animals and plants has given me more than I could ever have imagined and sustained me. Gardening is a gift. It’s a gift I was so lucky to receive. As I prune my tomato plants I remember what Nonno Vincenzo used to say: "Can you carry one bucket of water?” I would reply, “Yes." “Could you carry two?” I would reply, “Yes.”
“Can you carry three?”
This was his way of teaching me to prune tomatoes to a maximum of two vertical stems. So I make my compost and care for my chooks and save my seeds and make my fertilisers. I garden like my nonnos and wouldn’t do it any other way.
Jaclyn Crupi is a bookseller and author based in Melbourne. Her latest book Garden Like a Nonno, illustrated by Felicita Sala, is out 27 July through Affirm Press.
