Hello friends, Gary Stewart here. I hope your coffee is warm and your boots are nearby. This Easter, we’re stepping away from the chocolate wrappers for a moment to look at what’s happening beneath our feet. I’m no master horticulturalist—just a guy who finds that the dirt usually has better answers than the news.

Easter Sunday at our house is usually a whirlwind of mismatched socks, hidden chocolate eggs that we’ll inevitably find in August, and a house that feels a little too small for the energy within it. But this year, I noticed something as I watched my daughter and son tear through the house/garden. Once the last foil-wrapped treasure was found, a strange lull fell over the group. The "sugar high" was beginning to plateau, and the inevitable "What now?" was hovering in the air.

I decided to lead them toward the potting shed. There’s something grounding about moving from the frantic search for what is hidden to the intentional planting of what is unseen. We gathered around a tilled patch of earth, some of us on old knees and others squatting with the effortless grace of childhood. Our task was simple: planting Sugar Snap Peas.

As we pushed those hard, wrinkled little spheres into the cool, damp earth, I realised that gardening with family isn't really about the harvest. It’s about the friction of the experience. It’s the sound of my son laughing because he’s covered in mud, and the sight of a ten-year-old carefully tucking a seed into its "brown blanket" of soil. We weren't just gardening; we were creating a shared anchor point. In a world that moves at the speed of a fibre-optic cable, the garden demands we downshift. It forces us to move at the speed of biology.

Just as we were finishing the row, my youngest Cody looked at the flat, brown patch of dirt we had just created. He looked at his muddy hands, then back at the ground, and asked with total sincerity: "Okay, Dad, when does it happen? When do we eat them?"

I laughed, but it hit me—that is the central question of our modern lives, isn't it? We press a button, and we want the result. We post a photo, and we want the "like." We start a habit, and we want the transformation by Tuesday. Standing there in the Easter sun, I realised that the hardest thing to teach a child—and the hardest thing to remember as an adult—is that growth is a silent, invisible process.

That moment of "When?" is where the garden teaches us its most profound life lesson: The Season of the Unseen. In life, we often feel like nothing is happening. We work on our relationships, we put effort into our mental health, or we labour at a career, and for weeks or months, the surface looks like nothing but flat, brown dirt. We feel stuck. We feel like we’re failing because we can’t see the "green" breaking through.

But the garden reminds us that the seed is not "doing nothing." Beneath the surface, that Sugar Snap Pea is undergoing a radical, structural transformation. It is absorbing moisture, it is sending out a taproot to find stability, and it is preparing for the massive energy expenditure of breaking the surface.

This Easter, as I looked at my family, I saw different seasons of life represented in one circle. My son is in his "sprouting" phase—all energy and rapid change. My daughter is in her "flowering" phase—busy, productive, and nurturing. And I? I think I’m learning to be the soil. I’m learning that my role is to provide the stability and the nutrients for those around me to grow.

The garden teaches us resilience because it doesn't give up when the weather turns cold for a day. It teaches us patience because it cannot be rushed. And most importantly, it teaches us that the waiting is not wasted time. The time spent under the dirt is just as vital as the time spent in the sun. When we garden with our families, we aren't just growing vegetables; we are practising the art of waiting together. We are acknowledging that some of the best things in life—love, wisdom, and a crisp pea pod—take time to develop.

Gardening Tips

Since we’re leaning into that "Easter energy"—balancing the joy of the new season with the reality of muddy boots—here are a few ways to spend your time in the dirt this weekend.

Remember, we aren't aiming for a Chelsea Flower Show gold medal here; we’re just looking to connect a little deeper with the earth and the people we’re sharing it with.

Garden To-Do’s

If your early spring bulbs (like daffodils or crocuses) are starting to look a bit shrivelled and brown, pinch off the spent flower heads. Crucial: Leave the green leaves alone! They need to die back naturally to send energy back into the bulb for next year.

Weeds like bittercress and chickweed love this time of year. Spend twenty minutes—no more, no less—pulling them out while the soil is damp and they come away easily.

Spread a thick layer (about 5cm or 2 inches) of well-rotted compost or bark mulch around the base of your shrubs and perennials. Keep it a little away from the actual stems to avoid rot.

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Did you know that just 30 minutes of gardening has been shown to significantly lower cortisol levels? Whether you're pulling weeds or pruning roses, the act of nurturing a plant provides a unique form of "biophilia"—our innate biological connection to nature that reduces anxiety and boosts serotonin.

As you head outside this week, remember: you aren't just growing a garden; your garden is growing you.

Until next time Embrace Gardening 🌱