The Hardest Part
About Waiting:
Late Winter Garden Thoughts
By: Dawn Writes Co.
It’s late February, and I’m in that impossible space between winter and spring. All of my seed packets are organized on my desk. The large collection of pots is clean and ready. My planting plan is sketched out. Everything is prepared except the one thing that actually matters: the weather.
I can’t plant yet. Won’t be able to for weeks. And the waiting is driving me slightly crazy.
The Restlessness
There’s this specific kind of restlessness that hits in late winter. I’m tired of the cold, the bare branches, and the frozen ground. I am tired of looking out at a dormant garden and waiting for something to happen.
I often catch myself checking the extended weather forecast multiple times a day as if it’ll magically change. We’re still weeks from the last frost date, and it's still too cold for tender herbs.
I’ve cleaned and reorganized my seed starting area twice. Not because it needed it, but because I needed something garden-related to do with my hands.
The Temptation to Rush
Every year I tell myself that I’ll be patient, as I am always tempted to start too early.
“What if I start those basil seeds now? I could give them extra time to grow. They’d be huge by planting time.”
Except that I know what happens when I start basil too early. The seedlings will be leggy, and the plants will become root-bound while waiting for the warmer weather.
A planting schedule exists for a reason. Seeds started at the right time produce better plants than seeds started early. I know that. But it doesn't make the waiting any easier.
What I’m Actually Doing
Since I can’t plant outside and it’s too early to start most seeds indoors, I’m channeling energy into:
Going through herb books and rereading articles that I've saved. I'm learning about some of the new varieties and their growing requirements that I am planning on trying this year.
I am also refining my garden layout by calculating plant spacing and making sure I've thought through companion planting, water needs, and access to all plants when it's their turn to be harvested.
Taking notes on how the snow is currently melting in different parts of the yard and noticing where the sun hits as the days get longer.
I am also using up the last of my dried herbs from last season and being reminded why I do this. It's for that first cup of fresh mint tea in May that makes all the waiting so worthwhile.
Small Signs of Progress
It’s not all waiting and impatience. I am starting to see the small signs that winter is loosening its grip.
The snow is melting faster than it refreezes now, and bare patches of ground are starting to appear.
Days are noticeably longer as I can see the garden in the daylight when I get home from work again.
The outdoor perennial herbs are still buried under mulch, but I know they’re down there. They are still dormant but alive, and waiting just like I am.
In another week or two, I’ll wander out and check under the mulch to see if anything is greening up. Not because there's anything to do about it yet, but to see for myself that spring is actually coming.
The Indoor Herbs
The herbs sitting on my windowsill are my connection to active growing right now. The rosemary is still thriving and providing some fresh sprigs for tea. The mints are producing. It’s not the abundant summer garden that I’m craving, but it’s something.
I love all the plants in my indoor winter garden, but I’m also ready to move them back outside. Real sunlight and fresh air are so much better for them, and I’ll get my windowsill back.
What Patience Is Teaching Me
This waiting period, every year, is teaching me that I can’t control the timeline.
I can prep and plan. I can buy seeds, clean pots, and sketch my layouts, but I cannot make spring arrive any faster. The garden will be ready when it’s ready. My impatience doesn't affect it.
There is something incredibly humbling about that, possibly even healthy. So many pieces of life move at the pace I dictate – emails, tasks, and schedules. But the garden operates on its own clock. It’ll be ready when the temperatures stabilize, seeds will germinate when the soil is warm enough, and the herbs will grow when the conditions are right.
My job is to be ready when that time comes. And to practice being patient in the meantime.
The Countdown
Our average last frost date is mid-April, which is still six to seven weeks away.
In about two weeks (early March), I’ll start my chamomile and calendula seeds indoors. Having seedlings to tend will make the wait a little easier.
By mid-March, I'll plant more seeds, and by April I’ll be juggling flats of seedlings and watching the weather forecasts obsessively for that safe planting window.
But right now I’m in the hardest part of the waiting. Too early to start most seeds and too cold to plant outside. Nothing but anticipation, planning, and trying to be as patient as I can.
Why I Keep Doing This
If the waiting is so hard, why bother to garden at all?
It's because that first handful of fresh mint leaves in late spring tastes like an accomplishment. Watching seeds sprout feels like witnessing a small miracle. There is something deeply satisfying about growing plants specifically for the tea that I’ll drink myself.
I remember one time last summer I stood in my garden at dusk harvesting chamomile flowers. I watched while the bees worked the blooms, and I felt completely content in that moment.
I know that in July, I’ll be completely overwhelmed with abundance. I will have more herbs than I can harvest, a constant production, and the need to dry and preserve everything for winter.
I may wish for the quiet simplicity of February when the garden demanded nothing but patience.
The Reminder I Need
Every year I need to remind myself that the waiting game is part of the process. It isn't time wasted; it's the building of anticipation, proper planning, and mental preparation.
I don't think that I'd appreciate any of it as much if I could plant whenever I wanted.
So I’m practicing patience. I'm reviewing my plans one more time and organizing my seed packets again while drinking tea from last season’s harvest and imagining this season’s abundance.
When that first warm day arrives, all the waiting will evaporate into pure excitement.