Wake Your Soil Gently

As the days stretch longer and light begins to warm the earth, the first thing I do is take a moment to observe my garden’s soil. I always remind myself that good gardening begins beneath the surface. Soil is a living ecosystem, and after a long, damp winter, it needs a gentle wake-up, not an aggressive turn with a rotavator or spade.

Instead of digging, I use a garden fork or even just my hands to lightly loosen the top layer of the soil. This helps aerate without disturbing the microorganisms that have taken refuge during the cold months. I add a layer of well-rotted compost right on top – this will slowly work its way in, thanks to worms and other soil life. This method, influenced by permaculture principles, protects soil structure and enhances fertility naturally.

Clear the Debris, But Mind the Life

It’s easy to get eager and sweep away every leaf and stem left from winter, but I’ve learned to look twice before raking up everything. Often, beneficial insects like ladybirds and lacewings have overwintered in leaf litter or dead plant stems. I start clearing areas where planting is urgent, and I always work in stages, leaving some ‘wild’ corners undisturbed until temperatures consistently rise above 10°C.

When I do tidy up, I compost soft plant remains but set aside tougher woody material for making a wildlife-friendly brush pile in a corner. These heaps offer late refuge for insects and even small mammals like hedgehogs, who might still be in hibernation on chilly mornings.

Give Your Tools and Structures a Health Check

It’s easy to overlook tools that were hastily stashed away in autumn. I set aside an afternoon to inspect them – sharpening blades of pruners and secateurs, oiling wooden handles, and replacing anything too worn to fix. It’s one of those peaceful chores I enjoy with a cup of herbal tea nearby and the robins darting about curiously.

The same goes for structures. I walk around the garden checking raised beds for rot, retying loose trellis fixings, and scrubbing algae off the greenhouse glass to let in more precious sunlight. When everything is in working order, the rest of the season flows much more smoothly.

Test Your Soil, Naturally

Spring is the perfect time for a basic soil assessment. I dig a small pit and take a look at texture and moisture. If it’s waterlogged or compacted, I might hold off planting a little longer and instead sow green manure or mulch to improve conditions. If it crumbles easily and smells earthy, I know it’s ready for sowing.

Sometimes, I add crushed eggshells, wood ash, or nettle tea if a particular patch has been depleted. I always prefer these gentle, natural amendments over chemical feeds – they work gradually, supporting the microbes and fungi that keep soil thriving.

Revive Your Beds with Mulch and Cover Crops

One of my favourite spring rituals is mulching. I make deep beds and layer on straw, leaf mould, or shredded bark around overwintered crops and dormant perennials. This suppresses weeds, retains moisture, and adds organic matter as it breaks down. In my no-dig beds, it’s the primary method for controlling weeds and enhancing soil health.

If some patches went bare over winter, I sow cover crops like clover or phacelia now. These not only prevent erosion but also host pollinators early in the season. Come summer, I can cut them back and leave their biomass to enrich the soil surface.

Prune and Shape with Intention

Late winter and early spring are perfect times for pruning many perennial plants. I always start with my fruit trees – removing any dead, damaged or crossing branches to promote good air circulation and shape. Then I move on to shrubs like currants, roses, and lavender.

When pruning, I think not just about yield or shape, but about encouraging biodiversity. I often leave a few stems with berries or seed-heads intact until bird activity tapers off. Everything I cut goes either into the compost or my brush pile, keeping the cycle of energy within my garden space.

Let the Light In

One of the key shifts I notice in early spring is the angle of sunlight. Trees are still leafless, so it’s a great time to decide which areas could benefit from better exposure. I trim back overhanging branches gently or consider moving pots and raised beds to catch those vital sunrays.

Inside the greenhouse, I clean windows, tidy up seed trays, and start gradually warming the soil. I even use thermal bubble wrap inside the glass if nighttime temperatures plummet – a simple trick that’s saved me more than a few tender seedlings from frostbite!

Start Seeds with the Rhythm of the Season

I’m always tempted to start sowing as soon as the sun peeks out, but I remind myself to follow the rhythm of the soil, not the calendar. I start hardy plants like peas, broad beans, spinach, and brassicas under cloches or cold frames in March. For heat-lovers like tomatoes and courgettes, I wait a bit longer or sow indoors on warm windowsills.

Using my own seed from last year’s harvest is especially satisfying and supports local adaptation. I soak larger seeds like beans overnight and use seed compost made from a blend of loam, sand, and homemade worm compost. This hands-on approach nurtures life from the very start.

Welcome the Pollinators Early

By mid-spring, bees and other beneficial insects begin to stir – and they need food fast. I make sure early blooms are ready for them. Snowdrops, crocuses, pulmonaria and hellebores are among those I treasure for their early nectar. I also let dandelions and deadnettles flower where I can. Their golden faces and subtle purples may be humble, but they are true bee banquets.

Even a few containers of spring bulbs or herbs like thyme and chives near the back door can make a big difference. These days, I think of pollinators every time I plan a bed or choose a new plant. We’re gardeners together, after all.

Observe, Listen, and Adjust

Perhaps my most valuable spring practice is something not done with hands, but with heart: observation. I walk through the beds early each morning, cup of tea in hand, listening to birdsong and watching how the shadows fall. I feel the soil warmth and glance at what’s growing wild – nature is always offering cues for timing and care.

Each year is different, and what worked last spring might need tweaking now. I go slowly, respond to changes, and resist rushing because the sun is out. Gardening is less about control and more about relationship. That quiet attention has taught me more than any book.

As I lean into each task, I remember that spring isn’t a check-list – it’s a dance with the living earth, a time of co-creation. When I tune into that rhythm, the garden doesn’t just wake up – it sings.

Happy growing,

Samanta