Waking Up the Garden: Early Spring Rituals

There’s a sacred kind of excitement that comes with the first warm days of spring. The kind that sends you outside with a sweater draped over your shoulders and dirt under your nails by noon. For me, waking up the garden after a long winter is a ritual I look forward to every year. No matter how many seasons pass, this process never gets old—it feels like a quiet celebration of life beginning again.

The first thing on my list is always the bird feeders. Birdwatching is a shared pastime between me and my cats, and we take it very seriously. Filling up the feeders and waiting to see who arrives is one of those simple pleasures that feels like its own kind of luxury. If you’re looking for a peaceful hobby to pull you away from the glow of your screen, I highly recommend a feeder, a good birding book, and a cat curled up beside you.

The hummingbird feeders have also made their annual return from winter storage. It’s still a touch early to fill them with nectar, but hanging them up brings a little color and anticipation to the garden beds—just enough to get excited for what’s to come.

This spring, I’m trying something new: mint in hanging baskets. I love a good cup of mint tea, and growing my own felt like a natural step. I started the seeds about a month ago, and they’re already coming up nicely. It feels hopeful—like I’m brewing my summer mornings before they even arrive.

Last year, I took a chance on spring bulbs. I ordered trays of daffodils and tulips, but the original planting didn’t go as planned. So I built a raised bed just for bulbs, and this spring I’m being rewarded—tiny daffodils are already dancing in the breeze, and tulips won’t be far behind. I’m dreaming of layering in more varieties this fall to stretch the bloom season all the way through.

I haven’t started many vegetables yet this year. My winter rye is still covering the beds, and I plan to mulch it back into the soil soon. But I did experiment with DIY water bottle greenhouses for spinach and lettuces, and I’m happy to report—every single bottle has sprouted. It’s a simple solution that worked so well, I plan to scale it up next season. Still, I find myself daydreaming about a greenhouse. One day, I’ll have it. Until then, I’ll keep getting creative.

The trees are stirring, too. My magnolia tree is full of buds and ready to bloom. Last year, a late cold snap stole the show, so this season feels extra special. I brought a single branch inside, and watching the first flower unfurl on my desk has brought me more joy than I can explain.

In the orchard, my baby fruit trees are showing new growth. Two apple and two pear trees survived their first winter—nibbled on by deer but determined. I’m hoping this year they grow stronger, and I plan to plant tree guilds around them to support their health. I also have a Japanese Lilac tree, a brave little Amazon purchase from four years ago, that’s defied the odds and grown beautifully. Its scent fills the garden every summer, and I still can’t believe how well it’s doing.

There’s so much to look forward to—seed packets waiting patiently, transplant plans taking shape—but for now, I’m simply savoring the early signs of spring. The feeders are full. The buds are blooming. The rhythm of the garden is starting up again, and I’m grateful to be part of it.