I planted tomatoes, squash, and spinach in a row, Fed every bug in the county, didn’t even know. My back was screaming at the soil I tried to turn, And I was close to quitting with nothing left to learn. I called Grandma and told her all the mess I’d done, She said, “Boy, it sounds like you ain’t having any fun. You ought to try the old plants that grow on their own — Sorrel, Good King Henry, walking onions full‑grown.” And the old ones rise again, steady as the spring, Growing in the hard ground and they still cling. They don’t ask for much, just a patch of open ground — Those forgotten little heroes that keep my garden sound. Now I’ve learned my lesson — no need to work so hard, Let nature lend a hand and be the steward of your yard. Get to know the old ones, they’re the kind that want to stay — Lovage, rhubarb, sunchokes, they all guide the way. Grandma said, “There’s no need for poison — let flowers be your friend. They’ll guard your garden gently from beginning to the end. Try marigolds and nasturtiums, let the zinnias take their stand — Those little blooming helpers keep the peace across the land.” I learned the land’s been patient, waiting on my hand, Teaching me to listen, not to boss the stubborn land. Sometimes the seeds you’re planting aren’t the ones that choose to grow — And the ones that last forever are the ones the old folks know. And the old ones rise again, steady as the spring, Growing in the hard ground and they still cling. They don’t ask for much, just a patch of open ground — Those forgotten little heroes that keep my garden sound. When I have a problem, Grandma’s who I call — Listening to her keeps my garden standing tall.
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