Planning Next Year’s Garden During the Off-Season

(Because January Is for Dreaming, Drawing, and Denial)

Some people spend their winters skiing or baking bread. I spend mine hunched over a notebook, sketching rectangles labeled “beans” and “lettuce,” surrounded by seed catalogs and the faint smell of potting soil I’ve dragged in from the garage.

Planning next year’s garden is my therapy — part art project, part science experiment, part “how did I end up with this many zucchini seeds again?”

✏️ Step 1: The Winter Daydream Stage

It always starts in January, when I’ve fully forgotten what summer humidity feels like. I pull out last year’s sketches — hand-drawn, color-coded, and slightly smudged with dirt — and start plotting. I decide what to rotate, what totally flopped, and what I swore I’d “never plant again” but probably will (looking at you, bush beans). This is also when I remind myself that Seedtime exists — I open it, get ambitious about tracking things, and then promptly forget to use it once canning season hits. But in January? I’m unstoppable.

🪴 Step 2: The “Plotting Everything Like a Crime Scene” Phase

Once the pencils come out, it’s serious business.

I draw my raised beds, color-code where things will go, and make elaborate plans that would make NASA jealous. Sometimes I even take it to Photoshop and make a full visual layout — because when you’re starved for greenery, designing imaginary lettuce totally counts as productivity.

I double-check which crops need rotating, where the sun hits differently this year, and whether I can squeeze in “just one more” tomato plant (spoiler: I always do).

🍅 Step 3: The “I’m Absolutely Going to Document Everything This Year” Lie

Every single season I promise myself I’ll document it all — the first sprouts, the harvests, the wins and losses. And every single season I end up in full-blown canning and pickle madness, too sticky to pick up a notebook.

By September, I’m lucky if I remember what variety of cucumber I planted, but I always remember which tomatoes earned a comeback spot for next year.

I save those plant markers like trophies — the rest go in the trash.

🌦️ Step 4: Adjust, Learn, Repeat

Each year brings new weather, new challenges, and new reasons to talk to your plants like they’re coworkers who missed a deadline. And honestly, that’s what I love about it — you never get it “perfect,” but you always get better. The fun is in the trying. I’ve already started planning for next year, because as soon as the garden gets cleared out, my brain immediately goes, “Okay, but what if next time we try three kinds of lettuce?”

💬 In Short

Winter is for dreaming.
Spring is for digging.
Summer is for surviving.
Fall is for pretending you’ll take better notes next time.

And I wouldn’t have it any other way.

Want help sketching out your next garden plan or choosing what to plant where? I can help you design a layout that works for your space — and makes spring feel a little closer.