The Pink Lady of Woodhills: Cora Older’s Legacy

October 24, 1875

And it was on this day in 1875, my dear friend, that a remarkable woman who would come to be known as "The Pink Lady" was born in Clyde, New York.

I speak of Cora Miranda Baggerly Older, who, like her contemporary Gertrude Jekyll, understood that a garden is not just a collection of plants, but a canvas for artistic expression.

Born to an apple grower in upstate New York, young Cora might have lived a quiet life had fate not intervened during her summer break from Syracuse University.

As the story goes, she was performing in an amateur theatrical in Sacramento when a newspaperman named Fremont Older spotted her from the audience. Within a month, they were married – she just eighteen, he thirty-seven – beginning a partnership that would flourish as abundantly as their future gardens.

For years, they lived a nomadic life in San Francisco hotels while Fremont pursued his career as a crusading newspaper editor.

But in 1913, they discovered something magical in the hills above Cupertino – a piece of land that would become their beloved Woodhills. Here, working with noted San Jose architect Frank Delos Wolfe, they created not just a house, but a sanctuary where nature and culture would perfectly intertwine.

While Fremont would commute to San Francisco via train – from what would come to be known as "Fremont Station" – Cora found her true calling among the roses. She even went so far as to rescue one of downtown San Jose's last adobe buildings, having it reconstructed as a study near their swimming pool – a perfect blend of her passion for both history and horticulture.

The Woodhills house seemed to grow naturally from the hillside, taking in sweeping views of the Santa Clara Valley while remaining humble in its setting.

But it was Cora's gardens that truly transformed the property.

Like her contemporary Gertrude Jekyll, she understood that a garden should flow from the house as naturally as conversation flows between friends.

Much like Vita Sackville-West at Sissinghurst, Cora created a garden that became a gathering place for literary giants and social reformers alike. She created extensive terraced gardens, filled with her beloved roses, each terrace telling its own story.

Every weekend, the garden paths would be graced by some of America's finest minds – Carl Sandburg reading poetry among the roses, Lincoln Steffens debating politics beneath the wisteria, Clarence Darrow pondering justice in the shade of ancient oaks.

Her love of roses rivaled that of rosarian Graham Stuart Thomas, earning her the endearing nickname "The Pink Lady" for the hundreds of pink roses she cultivated at Woodhills. But perhaps her most creative touch was incorporating broken pottery and tiles from a San Jose factory into garden walls and paths, creating magical mosaics that would catch the light and sparkle like jewels.

During World War II, she showed the same grit as the victory gardeners of the era.

As Elsie Robinson reported in 1942, "During sizzling July and August weeks she has been climbing the hundreds of apricot and prune trees which spread across her big ranch at Cupertino, picking the fruit herself." At nearly seventy years old, she made "four jolting trips down the mountain trail with the crop" each day.

"Mrs. Older remained active in the management of her Cupertino estate – Woodhills Farm," her obituary would later note, "and continued writing daily until three years ago."

She lived to be 93, outliving her beloved Fremont by 33 years, tending her roses and writing her stories until nearly the end.

Today, my gardening friend, Woodhills stands protected on the National Register of Historic Places, surrounded by the Mid-Peninsula Open Space District. Each spring, when the house opens its doors to visitors, they can still see her artistic touch in every corner of the garden. The Lady Banksia roses she planted still bloom near the entrance, a living testament to her legacy of beauty, creativity, and resilience.