I will have a garden,
Even if it’s small,
Will till the ground
That winter hardens
Until my plants grow tall.

I will grow a garden,
Even when it’s hard,
And raise my seeds
And weed these weeds
In my little yard.

I will give my garden:
What it blooms and bears
This year—and bear what else
Will come or won’t—
And what comes, share.

I will have a garden—
I’ll grow the best I can;
This year, yes, will glean
And give, rejoicing,
And that is all my plan.

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The initial inspiration for this poem came from a Southern woman I once heard declare that anywhere she lived, “I will have a garden.” This resolution resonated with me, especially since I’ve been growing plants in one fashion or another ever since living in a college dorm. My first was an impulse buy at Ikea, my second a gift from a lady at the local post office who saved it for me when they were switching out their seasonal counter decor. I’ve raised roses, hydrangeas, begonias, salvia, ferns, cosmos, lantana, caladiums, basket plants, succulents, and numerous forgotten flower species that withered long ago. In fact, when my grandmother and I went plant shopping together this spring, it was funny (and a little sad) how many plants we recognized from previous years’ failures—casualties in our long-fought campaigns for beautiful gardens.

This year, I’ve been growing my first porch garden vegetable—a cherry tomato that has engulfed a corner of my porch and begun trailing off the second-floor balcony (if one of my downstairs neighbors gets hit in the head by an overripe cherry tomato…it wasn’t me!).

Gardens and plants are a beautiful way to spread joy, whether it’s brightening your day as you see your plant grow, sprucing up a view that others can enjoy too, bedecking a dinner table, or sharing fresh flowers or vegetables with a neighbor, coworker, or friend. And what, after all, is more Southern than that?