When winter begins at the garden center, we have the slightest window in which to catch our collective breaths after the flurry of fall cleanups, inventory counts, storing tools and plants for the winter and completing our last tasks for our clients before the flurry of holiday activities begins. During the holidays, we are busy with making wreaths, caring for poinsettias and the winter bulbs and houseplants while selling Christmas trees and gifts to our customers to get their homes ready for the holiday season.
After the beginning of the year, our pace begins to slow. Our hours diminish and our staff has a chance to take a few days off a week if they choose. The steady stream of shoppers becomes a trickle and our shop becomes host to planning and strategizing for the upcoming season.
The beginning of the year usually marks an increase in my sleep patterns as I allow myself extra rest in those darkest days. My stress levels are usually lower as I look forward to a few months of this slow time of year, perhaps a vacation and hopefully some good snow for skiing. Especially right now, as I’m encouraged to take time for myself for self-care, I indulge myself in a sleep like I haven’t known in a very long time. Sometimes I wonder if I should be allowing myself such a luxury, but I know how necessary this rest is for me right now and I dismiss this self-doubt quickly.
The quieter months at the shop also mean a slower pace of deposits into our bank accounts, and as the winter months progress, those numbers begin to create stress and worry. I worry about how we will pay the mortgage, the payroll, the electric bill and restocking the inventory. I worry about new hires and vehicles that that need attention. I worry about marketing and plant survival. I worry about deer eating our plants, rodents invading our high tunnels, ice in the parking lots and snow removal from the greenhouses. My sleep patterns begin to be affected by these worries, a more familiar place to be for me than my anomalous January deep sleeps.
It is easy to get lost in the swirl of lack at this point. It is easy to fret and to feel an overwhelming sense of push and pull: I want to enjoy my time of rest and recovery but it just doesn’t pay the bills. But there is one act that always brings me back to that place of abundance and keeps my mind out of the gutter of not enough, and that is the starting of seeds. When I look at the multitude of seeds that we have at our fingertips each spring, I feel like we’ve won the lottery. When I get into that greenhouse with snow piled outside so high and the temperatures such a stark contrast to the negative temperatures just a few feet away, when I get my hands into that soil and sprinkle the first seeds into those trays, it makes me feel like we might just make it. Each packet of seeds holds a new promise. Each seed within that packet means an individual plant that will grow and be transformed into a fruit or a flower to provide beauty or food, foliage or flavor, providing for our gardens and our customers’ gardens for the season ahead.
Then comes the anticipation of the event of germination and the caring for those tender new shoots of vegetation. They are so young and vulnerable that caring for these seedlings becomes an act of nurturing both for them as well as for myself. I care for those seedlings and they care for me as I turn my gaze less inward and more toward their needs of water, sunlight, nutrients and more space.
I love watching the greenhouses transform from empty benches and winter storage into vast swaths of green and color as we fill every inch with seedlings, hanging baskets and planters. I love seeing the looks on our customers’ faces as they walk through the greenhouses and breathe in the smell of the soil, feeling the warmth that they crave after the months of cold. But it’s those first few trays of seeds that bring me the most joy. And joy is a commodity that is the most precious and precarious possession that I could have.