A quiet observation from the Lion Gardener. 🦁
After a long winter, we start longing for something green.
It’s not really about food yet. It’s about colour. Life. The idea that something is finally waking up again.
So we flip through seed catalogues, scroll online, and dig through our own seed stash. Every page feels hopeful. Every packet feels possible.
Most years, we end up sowing too much.
Not because we need it — but because spring makes us optimistic. We plant for an imaginary version of ourselves who has endless time, energy, and freezer space.
Later, when the season is in full swing, some crops quietly fall behind. They don’t fail — they just wait. Seeds on shelves. Produce left too long. Good intentions that never quite catch up.
These days, I start somewhere else entirely.
I start in the pantry and the freezer.
I look at what’s left from last year and ask myself a few honest questions.
This year, that meant fewer sauce tomatoes and more slicing tomatoes.
More carrots. Less of what we admire more than we eat.
I still grow extra — enough to share with neighbours — and I always leave room for something new. Last year it was kohlrabi. I loved watching it swell above the soil, its bluish-green leaves holding themselves just above the ground. We ate it roasted, and fresh in salads.
There’s room for curiosity in every garden. Just not at the cost of usefulness.
For me, growing what we use means choosing crops I can freeze, dry, or bottle — with very little pressure to eat everything fresh. When the garden is producing, there’s always something to eat right where I stand.