Hello Reader,

This week, I saw the first seedlings pushing through the seed starting mix. After a week of staring at soil— there they were—two pale green leaves, still folded and fragile, but undeniably alive.

​Echinops bannaticus 'Blue Glow' (aka globe thistle). The first to germinate. I started the seeds in soil blocks that I put in the freezer for a couple weeks. So far, only two of the twenty seeds germinated. The seeds that didn't germinate went back into the cold in hopes I can coax them to grow with more cold stratification.

I've started seeds for years, but this moment never gets old. That first green is always exciting—proof that patience pays off.

I also saw life from four other plants this week:

1. Calamintha nepeta (white blooming Nepeta)
2. Verbascum chaixii f. album (Mullein 'Wedding Candles')
3. Heuchera x micrantha 'Palace Purple'
4. Penstemon barbatus 'Twizzle Purple'

Winter Sowing on the Patio

I'm winter sowing outside in ziploc bags and plastic containers—a technique that sounds weird until you understand that I don't have access to milk jugs. Winter sowing is a great way to grow seeds that need cold stratification, freeze-thaw cycles, and patience.

They look abandoned. But inside those containers, seeds are doing what they're designed to do—waiting for the exact right moment, counting cold days, preparing.

I check them every morning even though there's nothing to see yet.

A Block Print for February

I found this block print on the National Galleries of Scotland website—snowdrops, printed around 1935 by the English artist Mabel Royds (1874-1941).

Snowdrops (Galanthus) are called "February fair-maids" in old English texts. They bloom when nothing else will—sometimes pushing through snow, which is how they got their name. The Victorians saw them as symbols of hope and new beginnings and they planted them by the thousands.

The artist who made this print—Mabel Royds—understood that snowdrops are worth documenting, worth the patient work of carving into wood and pressing onto paper. Mabel saw what I'm learning to see: beauty in small things.

I don't have snowdrops yet. But I will. This print is a reminder of what I'm building toward—a garden where early bloomers are part of the design, where I'm thinking in seasons and years, not just summer flowers.

What This Week Taught Me

Starting seeds in February feels like a ridiculous act of faith. It's cold outside. It's grey. The garden is months away. But these tiny seedlings under lights, these winter sowing bags covered in snow—they're teaching me something I need to learn:

The slow work happens long before anyone can see it.

The garden teaches us to do the work even when we can't see the results. To show up, observe, wait. And that slow, invisible work pays off come Spring.

Thanks for being here. Happy gardening!
Sue