After harvesting the abundance of summer and admiring the beauty of fall, then celebrating together during the shortest days to ward off the darkness of winter, it’s back to reality for many of us. Back to work or school, back to a more structured pace of life—a routine that can be quite welcome after the holiday madness. Our lives are slowly returning to normal.
It is often a time when we retreat more into ourselves: into our homes, but also into our inner selves. A time to recover after a series of efforts, celebrations, and demands. For some, this period is accompanied by boredom or a slight melancholy linked to the end of the excitement. For others, it is a relief to finally be able to slow down, and sometimes both feelings coexist. January then becomes a good time to do a little cleaning: yes, in our homes, but also in our minds, which are often overwhelmed by the intensity of the previous weeks.
In the garden, a similar process is underway
The gardens have retreated under the snow, isolated from the bitter cold. This white blanket acts as a natural insulator, often keeping the soil temperature close to 0°C even when the air is much colder. Under this protection, life goes on. The soil remains a living environment: bacteria and fungi slow down their activity considerably, with some entering partial dormancy, while others remain active at a very low level. Soil fungi, which are generally more tolerant to cold than many bacteria, play a key role here.
Mycorrhizal networks—these close associations between fungi and roots—remain present and structurally intact. Their exchanges are limited in winter, but these networks are ready to quickly resume their role of transporting water and nutrients as soon as conditions improve, especially when the soil has not been too disturbed in the fall. The garden also cleans itself up: organic matter continues to decompose, slowly but surely, nourishing the soil for the next cycle.
Plant roots are still alive. They retain reserves accumulated in the fall, rich in sugars and other soluble compounds that act both as a source of energy and as protection against frost, lowering the freezing point of cells. Their metabolism is slowed, but not stopped. Since the winter solstice, the days have been gradually getting longer, and even though most of the leaves have fallen, the stems and buds are already sensing this change in photoperiod. Subtle hormonal adjustments are beginning, slowly preparing the plants for the spring revival—still far off, but already inscribed in their physiology.
Wildlife in the garden also reacts to these signals
In many birds, the gradual increase in light already influences the hormonal system, particularly hormones related to reproduction, which slowly changes behavior: certain songs timidly reappear, heralding the first stages of the coming season. Small mammals—and some humans—reduce their movements and activity to conserve energy, while hibernating species remain in deep slumber. Insects spend the winter in diapause, a programmed physiological state in which metabolism is greatly reduced but not interrupted. All share the same strategy: to survive by expending as little energy as possible in order to ensure the continuation of the cycle.
The garden is therefore in a phase of invisible preparation
As in our own lives, the most important things happen indoors. The processes are slow and discreet, but decisive. Balances are being reorganized, reserves are being consolidated, and everything is getting ready to start again—at the right moment.
Even before we begin preparing our gardens for spring, subtle changes are already taking place in our minds. The events of the last season have settled within us, sometimes recorded in notebooks, sometimes simply memorized. The weather, the successes, the failures, the evolution of our gardens, the losses too—all these experiences accumulated while we were busy gardening, then celebrating.
Now that the pace is slowing down, it becomes possible to gather these scattered pieces. To take a step back. To try, once again, to put the puzzle back together.
This moment, in the heart of winter, is perhaps the best time to reflect—not on what we will do in the garden, but on why we garden. Before the plans, before the lists, before the purchases, there are intentions.
What do we really expect from our garden?
A productive place? A space of beauty? A refuge for biodiversity? A place to slow down, recharge your batteries, observe nature at work, gather together, or pass on a love of gardening to future generations? Often, these answers evolve over time, just as we do. As do our gardens.
This fundamental step provides direction. Our values, needs, and personality become our compass. They will guide our future choices, sometimes without us even realizing it.
Under the snow, the garden works silently, while something is also stirring within us.
Beautifully said. You are your father’s son. Thank you!
Thank you for writing!