Garden Planning in February in New York

February is when my garden really begins, even though everything outside still looks asleep. The ground is frozen, the beds are covered in snow, and yet my mind is already outside, mapping, imagining, and remembering what worked and what didn’t last year.

Most of my planning happens at the kitchen table. I pull out old notebooks, last season’s seed packets, and whatever notes I scribbled down in the middle of summer when I told myself I would remember later. This is when I sketch out the garden beds, deciding what goes where, what needs to rotate, and where I want to leave space for experimenting. It feels slow and thoughtful, and I’ve come to really value that pace.

Ordering seeds is one of my favorite parts of winter. I always gravitate toward Baker Creek and Wild Boar Farm tomatoes. There is something about flipping through those catalogs that feels like hope in paper form. The tomato varieties especially get me dreaming, colors, shapes, and flavors that make the waiting worthwhile. Even in February, I can already picture them climbing, heavy with fruit, warmed by the sun.

Once the seeds arrive, the trays come back out. I start small, setting up just enough to keep it manageable. Filling trays with soil, labeling rows, and gently pressing seeds into place feels almost meditative. Starting seeds indoors reminds me that growth doesn’t announce itself loudly. Sometimes it begins quietly, in warm soil, far from the elements.

I don’t rush this part. I’ve learned that starting everything at once only leads to overwhelm later. February gives me permission to ease into it, to begin with what needs the longest head start and let the rest follow in its time. A few trays on a shelf are enough to remind me that spring is coming.

Garden planning in February feels like an act of trust. I am planting long before I see results, believing that the work I do now will matter months from here. It is a gentle reminder that some of the most important work happens before anything is visible.