What To Do in the Garden In January
Living North's gardening expert Ross Pearson shares his advice on what needs to be done in the garden this month
Nevertheless, the turning of the calendar carries a certain magic. You start believing that this will be the year you finally stay on top of the weeding, label your seedlings properly and avoid buying plants purely because they look at you seductively in the garden centre. The garden, meanwhile, sits there in its muddy dressing gown, blinking back at you like: ‘Sure, darling. We’ve heard this before’. But this is precisely why January is wonderful. There is no pressure. You don’t need to sweep grandly into the garden like some horticultural superhero. You simply need to step outside, breathe in the crisp air and pretend you came out on purpose and not because the Wi-Fi dropped.
The garden is in deep contemplative mode right now. Trees stand about looking skeletal and dramatic (they do love to make everything all about them), the borders have dissolved into a sort of soggy archaeological site and the lawn squelches in a way that suggests it might actually be alive and thinking rude thoughts. And yet, beneath all this apparent inaction, things are happening. Roots are plotting. Bulbs are sharpening their elbows. Buds are slowly plumping themselves like gym members who actually turned up in January.
The first month is less about gardening and more about gently sidling into the new year with dignity. A few small jobs, a bit of dreaming and much joyful procrastination disguised as planning. Find the warmest spot in the house, occupy it with the determination of a cat and tell yourself that just noticing the garden counts as gardening. Because it does.
Helleborus orientalis (Lenten Rose)
December may have had its Christmas Rose, but January belongs to the Lenten Rose, a plant so elegantly blasé that it chooses the bleakest months to show off. The flowers, burgundy, cream, plum, lime, freckled, speckled and occasionally all at once, hover above leathery evergreen leaves like winter jewels. They open slowly, thoughtfully, as if they’re considering their options. And they last for weeks. Sometimes months. Which is more than can be said for most New Year’s resolutions.
Plant
Find a snug position in dappled shade under deciduous trees or by a path where you can admire them without trudging ankle-deep through sludge. Enrich the soil with leaf mould or garden compost; hellebores are classy and appreciate the good stuff.
Care
Remove old, tatty leaves before flowering to showcase the blooms like the botanical supermodels they are. Feed lightly in spring and divide established clumps in early autumn when the plant is feeling more amenable.
Tool sharpening
If you didn’t get around to it in December (because cheese happened) January is your second chance. A well-sharpened pair of secateurs is a thing of joy, rather like finding a fiver in last year’s coat pocket. Line up your snippers, shears, loppers and other metal contraptions, then spend a blissful hour restoring them to their former glory. It is the gardening equivalent of sharpening your mind for the year ahead, only with fewer existential questions.
Prune apples and pears
January is the Goldilocks month for pruning pome fruit. The leaves are gone, the structure is clear, and the trees can’t run away. Remove crossing branches, anything diseased, and any bits that are aiming for your face. Imagine you’re giving the tree a stylish haircut for the new year, something sharp, tidy, and optimistic.
Check stored bulbs and tubers
Dahlias, gladioli and all their overwintering cousins appreciate a quick once-over. Remove anything mouldier than a forgotten festive Stilton. Keep the rest cool, dry and away from mice, who consider dahlia tubers a Michelin-starred delicacy.
Clean paths and patios
Moss is having the time of its life right now, throwing itself across every damp surface like a lobbyist. If you enjoy remaining upright, give paths and patios a scrub or pressure wash. You will feel virtuous and your future self will thank you for not sending them sliding into the compost heap. Plus, it saves on the heating bills for an hour or two.
Top up bird feeders
Birds are basically operating on fumes in January and your garden becomes the local diner. Keep feeders filled with seeds, suet, peanuts and the avian equivalent of comfort food. Offer clean water too, preferably not frozen into a tiny, useless ice rink. The acrobatics of blue tits and the swaggering entitlement of robins is genuinely uplifting.
Protect tender plants
Wrap borderline-hardy plants with fleece when frost threatens. Anything that is breathable will do, from hessian sacks to your tatty old gardening jumper. Think of it as putting the garden to bed with a warm duvet and a gentle pat on the head.
Ignore your lawn entirely
Honestly? It is wet. It is grumpy. It does not want to be mown. Leave it be. You have enough on your plate.
Check for wind rock
January winds have no manners whatsoever and will happily wobble young trees back and forth for fun. This ‘wind rock’ loosens roots and leaves your plants feeling seasick. Go out and give your autumn-planted trees a gentle nudge; if they wobble like a toddler refusing bedtime, firm them in or add a stake. Not too tight, not too loose, just enough support so they don’t lean at an angle that suggests they’ve given up on life.
Plan this year’s crops
This is peak allotment-fantasy season. Spread out your seed catalogues, make ambitious diagrams and pretend there won’t be slugs, pigeons, heatwaves or existential despair. It’s all part of the ritual. If you want to feel truly professional, label a notebook ‘2025 Growing Plan’ and immediately misplace it.
Sow early crops indoors
If you’re feeling keen, you can start onion seeds, leeks, chillies and aubergines on a windowsill or in a heated propagator. They grow slowly, like teenagers waking up. But later in the year you’ll be smug. And we all garden partly for the smugness.
Protect winter brassicas
Kale, leeks, and cabbage are stoic souls, but even they appreciate a bit of tidying. Remove any yellowing leaves and check the state of your netting. And do remember to watch the pigeons. They are still plotting.
Disinfect the greenhouse
If your greenhouse currently resembles a crime scene, January is the moment to intervene. Wash the glass, sweep the floor, scrub the shelves, evict the spiders (politely, if you can) and organise your pots. By the end, you’ll feel like a functioning adult with your life in impeccable order. This feeling will last approximately seven minutes.
Sort out seeds
If your seed packets are currently stored in a biscuit tin, an old shoebox, or a bag-for-life that was once ‘temporary’, now is the time to restore order. Throw out anything so ancient it predates Brexit, group everything sensibly and make a list of what you actually need instead of buying duplicates (again). This is strangely satisfying and also stops you sowing 12 varieties of beetroot by accident in March.
Force rhubarb
Cover established crowns with forcing pots (or a bucket if you’re normal like the rest of us) to coax out those early, blushing pink stems. It feels like breaking nature’s rules in the most delicious way. But don’t force the same crown two years in a row unless you wish to be glared at by a plant.
January has a reputation for being grey, bleak and about as cheerful as cold gravy. But for gardeners, it’s secretly full of promise. The earth may look asleep, but everything is quietly gathering strength. Buds are swelling, bulbs are whispering and the whole garden is stretching its toes beneath the soil.
Your job is simple: prepare gently, dream boldly and do small things with enthusiasm. Allow yourself the luxury of imagining the year ahead, the triumphs, the colourful borders, the vegetables you will definitely remember to thin, the weeds you will absolutely, categorically not allow to win.
Will everything go to plan? Absolutely not. But that’s gardening. And that’s life. Messy, hopeful, unpredictable and often very funny. So, here’s to a new gardening year. May your secateurs stay sharp, your seedlings behave themselves and may your compost always smell faintly of triumph.
Garden writer, and lecturer of horticulture and outdoor education leader in Morpeth, Ross has won seven RHS Gold Medal awards to date.
