How do you know when to plant? How do you decide what to plant?
This is our first spring in our new home, and I’ve found so much joy in simply paying attention. When we moved in last July, the property was full and green—summer in its fullness. I remember thinking the walkway to the front door felt almost cottage-like, overgrown in the best way.
But spring is different. Spring unfolds slowly… quietly… and if you’re not looking closely, you might miss it.
Lately, I’ve taken to daily walks around the property—coffee in hand, while the sun creeps over the horizon —just to see what’s changed overnight. It has become one of my favorite rhythms.
And while I’ve been keeping mental notes, I’m realizing this might be worth writing down. So this post is part update, part record of our first early spring here.
The First Signs of Spring
At the end of March and beginning of April, the first signs appeared—tiny purple crocuses scattered around the house and out beneath the pine trees. Alongside them, little wild yellow and white flowers popped up like quiet confetti.
Within a week, the daffodils followed—bright and cheerful, many of them rising from a garden bed I had assumed was empty. (Turns out… not so empty.) That same bed now holds garlic, shallots, and about forty tulips I planted in the fall.
The tulips are taking their time, which feels fitting. A few have opened, but most are still stretching toward the sun.
Then came the rhubarb—sudden and dramatic. One day nothing, the next day there it was, large leaves unfurling like it had somewhere important to be. I’m still not entirely sure what I’ll do with it, but it’s thriving, and that counts for something.
Tending What Was Given
Back in January—on a very cold day—I pruned our existing fruit trees, hoping to encourage healthier growth this season. Last year gave us just a handful of pears and no apples, so I’m cautiously hopeful this year will be different.
The trees still need shaping, but I’m learning that kind of work takes time—years, not weekends.
And maybe that’s part of the lesson here.
“For everything there is a season… a time to plant and a time to uproot.” — Ecclesiastes 3:1–2
Building the Garden
March brought progress in a different way. Luke and I finished building ten raised garden beds—something we had talked about for months.
Then life shifted pace, and I stepped away for a few weeks for Reserve duty. While I was gone, Luke quietly moved every bed into better position and filled them with compost and topsoil. He also kept all my seedlings and young baby chicks alive—which, honestly, might be the greater miracle.
When I returned, I covered the beds with garden cloth to keep weeds down and help warm the soil. It’s not glamorous, but it’s practical—and right now, practical wins.
Planting Hope (Literally)
Mid-April brought our fruit trees—eight of them, carefully chosen for our growing zone. We planted apples, cherries, peaches, and plums, spacing them close enough to manage easily, but with enough room to grow well.
Not long after, we added blueberries and strawberries. The blueberries required a bit more thought—our soil wasn’t quite acidic enough, so I’ve been amending and hoping for the best. The strawberries struggled at first, but just this week I noticed new growth pushing through.
And that felt like a small victory.
Out in the beds, we’ve planted potatoes, onions, lettuce, and carrots. Some are sprouting, some are still deciding—and I’m learning to be patient with both.
Inside, the tomatoes, peppers, and herbs are growing steadily under lights, while sweet potato slips slowly (very slowly) begin to form.
Adjusting the Plan
Then, as it often does, life shifted again.
The week of Easter, Luke received notice of a short-notice work trip that would keep him out of town for several weeks, and suddenly our long list of projects had to be reevaluated. What needed to happen right now?
The answer was simple: protect the garden.
So in one afternoon, we installed a makeshift deer fence. It wasn’t the grand design we had envisioned, but it was enough. And sometimes, enough is exactly what you need.
We still have gates to hang and irrigation to figure out. For now, I’m watering everything by hand with a long hose—manageable today, but I know that may change soon.
Waiting, Even Now
We’re about three weeks away from our last expected frost date.
Could I wait that long to plant everything out?
Probably.
Will I? …we’ll see.
I did buy frost cloth, which feels like a compromise between wisdom and impatience.
A Gentile Reminder
This season is teaching me something I didn’t expect.
Not just how to grow a garden—but how to wait well.
How to observe before acting.
How to tend what’s already in front of me.
How to trust that growth is happening—even when I can’t yet see it.
“Let us not grow weary of doing good, for in due season we will reap, if we do not give up.” — Galatians 6:9
Because that’s the truth of it, isn’t it?
Gardens don’t grow overnight.
Roots take time.
And the work we do today often blooms much later than we planned.
So for now, I’ll keep walking the property each morning.
Keep noticing.
Keep tending.
And trust that God is growing something good here—both in the soil and in me.