Every year, I tell myself I have enough plants.
Then spring arrives.
The first warm days bring new leaves, tiny buds, and fresh inspiration. Before I know it, I'm walking through the aisles of Intratuin, convincing myself that just one more hydrangea or lavender plant won't make a difference. It never is just one. Despite already having well over a hundred plants in my garden, I somehow come home with another dozen every spring.
I don't even feel guilty about it.
There are so many places to buy my green little friends home, the Netherlands is full of them. I choose Intratuin every time. The biggest reason is their app. It reminds me when plants need feeding and shares useful care tips. When you have a garden with this many different species, every reminder helps.
I've learned that beautiful summer gardens aren't created in June—they're created in March and April.
Spring is when I spend the most time outside. Not because everything already looks spectacular, but because every little bit of attention I give now pays back tenfold later in the year.
My spring routine has become something I genuinely look forward to.
On my deck, I grow several edible plants in containers. Spring onions, coriander, mint, tomatoes, peppers, blueberries, and even a small lemon tree all return to life after winter.
The first thing I do is remove dead leaves and old stems. Fresh soil is added where needed because pots lose nutrients much faster than garden beds. Then comes the first feeding of the season, followed by a deep watering.
Tomatoes and peppers receive supports before they actually need them. Experience has taught me that it's much easier to prepare early than to rescue heavy plants later.
Mint, on the other hand, gets a gentle reminder to behave itself. If I don't trim it regularly, it'll happily take over every pot nearby.
Not everything I grow is edible.
The deck is also home to hydrangeas, roses, sunflowers, and several flowering plants whose names I probably should know but simply recognize by their beautiful pinks and purples.
Spring means pruning away anything damaged by winter, removing faded flowers, refreshing the potting soil, and giving each plant its first proper feed.
Hydrangeas especially reward a little attention. Healthy soil, enough water, and a bit of fertilizer transform them into enormous colourful blooms that last all summer.
Beyond the deck, my garden opens into borders filled with lavender, hydrangeas, sunflowers, and seasonal flowers.
This is where I spend hours kneeling on the ground.
Weeds are removed before they become a problem. The soil is loosened so rainwater can reach the roots more easily. Compost is spread around the plants to feed both the flowers and the soil beneath them.
Lavender receives its yearly haircut, encouraging compact growth instead of becoming woody. Every spring I'm amazed at how quickly it responds.
Spring doesn't only happen outside.
Inside the house, my orchids, petunias, and ZZ plant also wake up after the darker winter months.
I move them closer to natural light, clean dust from the leaves, increase watering slightly, and start feeding them again after their winter rest.
Healthy leaves aren't just beautiful—they're also better at capturing sunlight and keeping the plants strong.
Perhaps my favourite part of the garden isn't the flowers at all.
It's the collection of more than thirty trees and shrubs.
Every spring I walk from one to the next, checking for winter damage, pruning dead branches, adding mulch where needed, and making sure young trees receive enough water.
Trees teach patience better than any flower ever could.
Many of them change so slowly that you barely notice from week to week. Yet when you compare this spring with five years ago, the transformation is incredible.
People often ask why I spend so much time caring for plants.
The answer is surprisingly simple.
Plants never rush.
They don't complain about the weather. They don't compete with one another. They simply respond to the care they're given.
A little water. Good soil. Sunlight. Patience.
That's all they ask.
Spring reminds me every year that growth isn't dramatic. It's quiet. It happens one leaf at a time, one flower at a time, one season at a time.
Perhaps that's why I love my garden so much.
Because caring for plants is never really about the plants alone.
It's about learning that the things we love most don't flourish because we wish they would—they flourish because we return to them, day after day, with patience, consistency, and care.
And maybe that's the most beautiful lesson a garden can teach: love is not measured by how much we own, but by how well we nurture what has been entrusted to us.