We inherit a lot from our ancestors. Sometimes it’s money. Mostly it’s bad habits and strange advice about how to wash sheets or keep aphids away from your prize petunias. Some of it sticks. Most of it vanishes into the ether of family lore.
But some of it? It works.
We asked a few gardening professionals what their grandparents actually taught them. Which tricks have survived the decades? Which ones are just persistent myths? The answers were surprising. And a few were deeply practical.
Here is what stood the test of time.
Feed the soil, not the plant
This is the holy grail of sustainable gardening. Mary Phillips, a gardening pro, says her grandparents never just sprinkled chemical fertilizers on the lawn like it was sugar on coffee. No. They built the foundation.
“Feed the soil, not just the plant,” Phillips recalls as their mantra.
They used generous amounts of compost. Aged manure. Leaf mold. They replenished the earth every spring and fall. It wasn’t magic. It was biology.
“Healthy soil supports a diverse ecosystem,” Phillips explains. It improves water retention. It reduces the need for synthetic inputs. It leads to plants that don’t look like they’re holding their breath.
For Phillips, the compost bin is as critical now as it was for her grandparents. It’s not just about feeding the tomato plant. It’s about feeding the life underneath it.
Does human hair really repel pests?
Linda Vater, a garden designer, remembers her grandparents scattering hair from their brushes around prized plants. The theory? Humans smell like danger to garden snails and beetles. Pests get spooked. Your lettuce stays crisp.
Vater admits it sounds plausible. But she has doubts.
“The idea behind it is that adding a scent scares pests away,” she says. “But you have to replace the hair constantly. Once it rains or degrades, it’s gone.”
There are better ways to handle unwanted nibblers.
Plant pest-resistant varieties as a border. Choose plants with thorns or rough textures that insects and small animals simply dislike chewing on. It’s a natural barrier. Proven. Effective. Less messy than dead hair.
Never leave the soil bare
Bare earth is vulnerable soil. Phillips learned this young.
“Never let the soil be bare,” her grandparents insisted.
If you didn’t have mulch on hand? You planted groundcover. Straw. Shredded leaves. Undyed wood chips. They covered everything.
It makes sense when you look at what bare soil actually does. It erodes in rain. It bakes in sun. It dries out before your hydrangeas can drink.
“Mulch suppresses weeds,” Phillips notes. “It moderates soil temperature. It prevents evaporation.” It adds organic matter as it breaks down. It keeps the water where it belongs: in the root zone, not on the pavement.
Burying banana peels for bigger roses? Maybe.
Rose expert Wes Harvell was taught a specific ritual: bury banana peels at the base of rose bushes. The goal? Bigger blooms. Brighter colors.
His grandparents believed it worked. Harvell agrees it can work. But only if your soil is actually deficient in potassium.
“Banana peels are a targeted nutrient addition,” Harvell says. “Potassium. Only one of the nutrients roses need.”
You don’t guess. You test. Start with a soil test. Know what your earth lacks before you amend it.
That said, Harvell still uses the trick. With a modification. He chops the peels. Blends them. Mixes them into the compost pile. It’s slower. It’s more even. It’s sustainable waste reuse.
He also soaks them in water for a few days. A potassium tea for your roses.
If the peels aren’t helping? Switch to a balanced rose fertilizer. You need potassium and phosphorus. Not just one.
Catch and release the snails
Pieter Croes, a gardening architect, remembers his grandfather’s morning routine. Before breakfast. Before coffee. He walked the vegetable garden.
He looked for snails. He picked them up. He removed them.
Every day.
It wasn’t anger-driven. It was routine. It was meditative.
“Every aspect of gardening can be relaxing,” Croes says. “It connects you to the space. Makes maintenance less of a burden and more like a moment of stillness.”
There is joy in the manual labor. In knowing exactly what is living in your backyard. Even if it’s a slime-covered mollusk.
Gardening should be about joy
We forget this part often. We get obsessed with yields. With perfection. With the color green.
But the original intent was different. Phillips’ grandfather was adamant about this.
“He taught me the value of coexisting,” she says. “Supporting wildlife. Fostering a relationship with the natural world.”
The garden is not a factory. It is a living system. Everything is interconnected. The soil feeds the plant. The plant feeds the pollinator. The pollinator feeds the ecosystem.
Keep the joy in the process. Ignore the noise. And if your grandparents said to bury banana peels? Try it. If it doesn’t work? Try something else. Just keep digging.
