I told myself I wasn’t going to do it again. I’d learned my lesson. I was going to wait for just the right timing. 

I looked at the books. 

I started making a chart. 

I had a plan. 

And then, the sun came out. 

And people on YouTube told me I could do it. They said now was the time. 

So, a few Saturdays ago, with frost making the blades of grass sparkle and crunch under my feet, I went out to the shed and pulled out my seed starter trays. 

I picked up some seed starting mix, and while Erik went to take care of some ministry stuff, I got to work planting my vegetable seeds.

In January. 

Probably way too early. 

It’s possible nothing will survive. But I can’t help it. 

I get so excited about gardening that I just can’t wait any longer. Especially on a sunny day. 

This year I am doing things a little different – hopefully that increases my odds of success. 

In addition to starting a number of plant babies inside, on a heating mat, under grow lights, I decided to try “winter sowing.” 

Apparently, when you plant in a mostly enclosed plastic container and put it in a sunny location, in effect, a miniature greenhouse is created. Because the containers are mostly sealed (They do need a little airflow, and of course, drainage holes), they stay moist and don’t need constant watering. Plus, the ebb and flow of daily temperatures is supposed to “wake up” the dormant seeds in their own timing. You leave them mostly alone, making sure they stay moisturized, until the garden soil warms up enough to transplant them.

They don’t need any hardening off because they have already been exposed to a variety of temperatures and direct sunlight. 

Sounds pretty amazing, right? 

I thought so, too. Especially the promise of getting to start this year’s garden earlier than my garden book said I could. 

Because the truth is, I’m impatient. 

Really impatient. 

And my garden is just one of the places it’s most evident. 

To hedge my bets and try to get the most out of my spring and summer garden this year, as I mentioned, I also started seeds inside. 

Nestled in my dining room, under my 20-year-old black console table, is my “incubation station.” 

I started the same seeds there that I did outside, I hope doubling my chances of success. 

And inside, in the room I walk through dozens of times each day, is where the January magic started happening. 

I planted and labeled the seeds. 

I tucked in cool weather crops like broccoli, lettuce and spinach alongside heat-loving tomato seeds. I watered everything and covered it with a plastic dome. Two days later, I decided to take the dome off to make sure the soil was still moist enough for germination to happen. 

And that’s when I saw it. 

Not one, or two, but at least half a dozen little leaves popping out of the soil and straining for the light. 

I left the dome off. 

I watered again and walked away. 

That night, more cotyledons – this time lettuce – had been born. 

For the last week, I’ve checked those seedlings and stared at the soil of the “empty” trays multiple times a day. 

I almost can’t get enough. 

It happens so fast. One morning it looks like nothing is happening, then two hours later, you see a white bent-over stem starting to stretch from the depths of the dirt. A few more hours, and yellowish leaves have emerged. The next day, the yellow has turned to green and the sprouts stand taller. They are reaching, straining, yearning for the life ahead of them. 

Magic is the best word I can think of to describe it. 

And this January, I needed that magic. Badly. Almost desperately. 

Will all these little guys survive? I don’t know. Probably not. Even if they do, I probably won’t have room for all of them. Picking who will get transplanted – who will be given the best chance of survival – is an emotional battle I’ll fight another day. 

But today, I’m just going to enjoy the magic of it. 

How out of nothing, comes something.

How in the tiniest of seeds – some as small as a grain of sand – can become something that will one day fill the entire corner of my raised bed. One day, God-willing, it will produce leaves that will fill the bottom of my salad bowl as I pile on other miracles – plants of different sizes and colors that will strengthen me, nourish me, delight me and lead me to give thanks to the Creator for His amazing bounty. 

So, yeah. I did it again. 

I planted my garden early. Probably too early.

 But even if it all dies and I have to hit up garden stores to fill my beds come April and May, I think it’s worth it. 

Because January – especially this year – needed some magic.