The Truth at the Heart of Winter Sowing
What I Didn’t Know About the Brutality of Winter
Friend,
It’s been a long January here at the cottage.
Since I started winter sowing six years ago, my experience of winter has changed dramatically. In a still moment, surrounded by seeds and milk jugs, my outlook shifted—from a barely-surviving mentality to one of quiet, hopeful anticipation—even in the waiting that so often defines January.
I can’t say I felt that positive outlook this January.
It wasn’t just the January-ness of it all. It was too much, all at once.
The daily grind, too many commitments at six months postpartum, emotionally depleting realities from one day to the next, an illness that wouldn’t let up, and a winter storm threatening power outages—ultimately pushing me into fight-or-flight for nearly a week, as my nervous system recalled the aftermath of Hurricane Helene.
Then came the familiar refrain: I’m not enough.
That phrase—and its many irritating variations—played on loop in my head for days. Paired with a level of burnout I hadn’t yet reckoned with, it became hard to imagine a future moment that wasn’t so utterly—
winter.
Have you been there, friend? Are you there now?
Winter has a way of narrowing our vision, as though we’re looking through a glass dimly—convinced that what we see is all there is. That the stillness means stagnation. That nothing else is coming.
Today I’m reminding myself that I’ve seen what comes next.
Winter sowing isn’t like direct sowing, when the ground above is already green. It isn’t like starting seeds indoors under the steady glow of grow lights and consistent cozy, safe conditions.
It’s quieter, slower—and harsher than that. It’s placing seeds into cold, unyielding circumstances and trusting that they’ll respond when conditions change.
Outside, our winter-sown seeds are doing exactly that. Nothing beautiful is visible. Nothing that will happen is rushing. And yet, the future assurance of beauty stirs quietly in the soil.
If this month has felt slow, exposed, or unfinished, that doesn’t mean nothing is happening. Much of the beauty we wait for—flowers, projects, dreams, health, moments that matter—takes shape in silence and raw exposure, long before it becomes visible.
I’m reminding myself of this, once more, today.
xx,
Mily
P.S. Scroll down to find this week’s winter sown recipe — cozy, nourishing, and perfect for the cold days ahead!
Try my cozy Coconut Leek & Kale Soup
Perfect for endlessly cold days or anytime you need a nourishing, anti-inflammatory bowl to get you through sickness. Cozy, comforting, and packed with nourishing winter sown bits from the garden.
Ingredients
1 whole chicken
aromatics for the broth: 1-2 whole star anise, 3-4 whole cloves, 1 tsp turmeric, 1 tsp paprika, 1 tsp coriander, 1 tsp oregano, 2 tsp salt, 1 tsp whole peppercorn, 1 whole onion, half an apple
3 large leeks
homemade broth
3-4 sweet potatoes
a bunch of kale
½ can of full fat coconut milk
Steps
Place the whole chicken into a large stock pot and fill with water until completely submerged.
Add the aromatics, cover with a lid, and simmer for 3–4 hours.
Remove the chicken from the pot, pull apart the meat, and set aside.
Strain the broth and discard the solids. Return the broth to the pot and bring to a boil.
Add the cubed sweet potatoes and cook until fork-tender, about 8–12 minutes.
In a separate pan, sauté the finely diced leeks with salt and pepper until soft and glossy. Add them to the pot.
Stir in the chopped kale and cooked chicken.
Finish with the coconut milk, stirring gently to combine. Simmer for a few minutes until warmed through.
Enjoy cozied up with a blanket and some warm bread 🤍
