Why I’m Digging in the Mud in December (And You Should Too)
It’s December 29th. The holidays are technically over, the leftovers are starting to look suspicious, and it’s freezing outside. Most sane people are curled up under a weighted blanket right now. Me? I’m staring at a patch of frozen mud in the backyard, holding a pair of rusty shears, wondering if I can feel my toes.
And honestly, I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else.
There’s this misconception that gardening is a spring and summer gig. You plant the tomatoes, you water the hydrangeas, you fight the aphids, and then you pack it up when the first frost hits. But if you stop then, you’re missing the point. Winter gardening isn’t about growth. It’s about maintenance, structure, and—if I’m being completely real with you—saving my own sanity.
The Cabin Fever Cure
I don’t know about you, but by the time late December rolls around, the walls of my house start closing in. The air inside feels recycled. The heating makes me lethargic.
Stepping outside into the biting cold shocks the system. It’s awful for the first thirty seconds. Then, something shifts. The noise in my head quiets down. It’s just me, the wind, and a lot of dormant plants that need attention.
Last year, I spent the entire winter inside, planning “the perfect garden” on Pinterest. By March, I was miserable, and my garden was a mess of weeds and broken trellises I hadn’t noticed. This year, I’m out here. It’s not just about the plants. It’s about feeling useful when the rest of the world is in hibernation mode. There is a specific kind of calm that comes from pruning a dormant apple tree that you just can’t get from scrolling through Instagram.
What I Actually Do Out Here (The Technical Stuff)
Okay, enough philosophy. If you go outside right now, what are you supposed to actually do? You can’t plant petunias. If you dig too deep, you might hit permafrost depending on where you live.
Here is my actual workflow for the awkward week between Christmas and New Year’s.
1. Structural Pruning (With a Warning)
Winter is the best time to see the “bones” of your garden. Without leaves in the way, I can finally see that my Japanese Maple has developed a crossing branch that’s going to rub the bark raw next year. I take that out now.
But here’s where I messed up before: I used to prune everything in winter. Huge mistake. I once hacked back my hydrangeas in January, thinking I was being proactive. Turns out, I cut off all the old wood where the blooms were setting. That summer? Just a big green bush. No flowers. I was furious.
Now, I stick to the dormant trees and shrubs that I know are hardy. Apple trees, pears, and wisteria. I leave the roses alone until late February or March. If you cut them now and we get a hard freeze in January (which we definitely will), the frost can travel down the fresh cut and kill the cane. Don’t do it.
2. Hardscaping Repairs
Nobody wants to fix a fence in July when it’s 90 degrees and the perennials are in the way. Right now, my garden is flat. I can see exactly where the raised bed is rotting out. I can access the back fence without fighting a thorny blackberry bush.
Yesterday, I spent two hours reinforcing a trellis that was leaning dangerously to the left. It wasn’t glamorous. I was kneeling in cold mud. But come June, when that thing is covered in heavy clematis vines, I’m going to thank December-me for actually fixing it.
3. Mulching (The Lazy Way)
I used to obsess over clearing every single fallen leaf. I wanted the beds to look “clean.”
I stopped doing that. It’s a waste of time and it’s bad for the soil. Now, I just rake the leaves from the lawn into the flower beds and leave them there. Free mulch. It insulates the roots against the freeze we’re about to get in January, and as it breaks down, it feeds the worms. If the leaves are huge (like Sycamore), I might run the mower over them once to chop them up so they don’t mat down and suffocate everything. But mostly? I let them be.
The Gear That Stops Me From Quitting
You cannot enjoy this if you are freezing. It is physically impossible. I tried the “tough it out” method for years and just ended up miserable and sick.
If you take one thing away from this rambling, let it be this: buy insulated work gloves. Not the cheap cotton ones. I use a pair that’s dipped in rubber (keeps the wet out) and lined with fleece. If my hands are warm, I can stay out there for hours. If they get wet and cold, I’m back inside in ten minutes, grumpy and defeated.
Also, a decent hori hori knife. The ground is hard right now. A trowel just bends. A hori hori is basically a serrated dagger for gardening. It cuts through semi-frozen soil and stubborn roots like nothing else.
The “Winter Interest” Lie
Garden magazines always talk about “winter interest.” They show pictures of red twig dogwoods looking stunning against pristine snow. In reality, my dogwoods usually just look like sticks in the mud.
But there are exceptions. My Hellebores (Lenten Roses) are the real MVPs. They are starting to push up new growth right now. Seeing fresh green leaves emerging from the frozen ground on December 29th feels like a magic trick. It reminds me that the dead season isn’t actually dead. It’s just resting.
Witch Hazel is another one. If you don’t have one, get one. They flower in the dead of winter and they smell amazing. It’s bizarre to smell flowers when you can see your breath, but it’s the kind of weirdness I live for.
Why Bother?
My neighbor walked by earlier while I was scraping moss off the patio pavers. He looked at me like I’d lost my mind. “Everything’s dead, isn’t it?” he asked.
“Pretty much,” I said.
He kept walking. He doesn’t get it. And that’s fine. He’s probably going to spend the afternoon watching TV. I’m going to spend it fighting a stubborn root system and clearing out the dead growth from the ornamental grasses.
When I go back inside tonight, my back will ache, my fingernails will be dirty no matter how much I scrub them, and I’ll be exhausted. But it’s a good exhaustion. The kind that lets you sleep. The anxiety of the holidays, the stress of the upcoming year—it all gets worked out into the soil.
Plus, when spring finally hits in a few months, I won’t be scrambling to catch up. I’ll be ready.
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