The best thing to do in the garden in February, says Alys Fowler, is absolutely nothing

THE PIGEON TRIES to shift its weight so that the birdfeed doesn’t tumble. If it were smart, it would just knock it over and glean the spill, but it won’t. When the birdfeeder falls it will fly off in alarm. The seed will scatter amongst the bed and inevitably will germinate. This bothers me little: I like flax flowers. I’ll eat the mustard as greens and let the wheat sprout where it looks whimsical and pull out the rest.

For a brief moment I am lulled into thinking it would be nice to actually go into the garden, so I wander out. But on close inspection in the biting wind, the garden is ugly. It’s mostly dead or half rotted. Even the snowdrops are bent double with the cold. Anything that was foolish enough to keep going in milder moments is blackened.

There is nothing inviting about being in the garden, so I go back to looking at it instead.

This is how you should garden in February. You should daydream. You shouldn’t actually garden.

Frozen ground should remain just that. Below the frost line, the soil is zero degrees all year round, and all who live in it are perfectly protected from the ravages of weather. Except, that is, if you come and toss this world on its head. Allowing that cold to creep deep down into its belly. Freezing its occupants. Nature does not disturb the soil at this time of year, and neither should you.

Instead, imagine how you like the garden to look in summer. This is not a fantasy exercise. It is one of the best ways to design a garden. Imagine where you’d like to sit, what you’d like to see. Is this possible? Can you grow your dream plants in these conditions? Is there sun for those that like that sort of thing? Or does it actually sit in deep shade? If you’re dreaming about a sun-loving perennial when your garden is sunk in shade, could you make the dream come true? Perhaps you could persuade your neighbours to cut down the giant conifer, perhaps not. If the latter, can you change your dream to a delightful woodland glade? Can you accept your lot?

Look past the weeds, the rotting and the half gone and take in the barebones. Is the path in the right place? Is it wide enough? Is it too straight, when a meander would give you an extra glimpse? Or does it wander off when all you really want to do is get to the washing line quick? Those bare patches in the lawn tell you much about your desires.

Take note, write it down, and make a list. Too much staring at bare brown does no good for the February blues. Retreat to the colour magazines, the online moodboards and the technicoloured seed catalogues. It’s all garden porn, really. Those sun-drenched images are just that, a carefully edited version of real life, but within every one is a tiny bit that you can take away and reproduce.

It’s easy particularly with seed catalogues to shop your way into spring. Before you fall into this trap, go through your existing seeds. Compost the truly out of date, sow the maybe out of date as micro-greens on your windowsill. You can eat a vast amount of vegetables as baby greens, any brassica seedling is delicious when tiny. Amass the half-used packets into collections. If you’re limited on space, sowing a mixture of, say, radish varieties or beetroot is useful. You get an array in one picking.

Only after all this should you order in new seeds. You will see where the obvious gaps are or what you never got round to sowing last year.

By the time the post brings your future garden, it will be time to start sowing. Till then, in the warmth of your house you can idle away the time dreaming of where it will all go.

ENDS

Alys Fowler is a gardening writer and broadcaster. She is the author of The Thrifty Gardener, The Edible Garden, The Thrifty Forager and Abundance: How to Store and Preserve Your Garden Produce. Twitter: @AlysFowler
Alys will be presenting the Idler’s forthcoming online course, “How to Grow Vegetables”.