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Every Little Thing by April Jeppson

It’s always this time of year when I find myself longing for sunshine, warmth and the promise of growth. The cold, dreary days of winter make my mind wander to the idea of a garden.

Now, let’s be clear: I haven’t actually had a garden in years. Life gets busy, and by the time spring rolls around, I usually find myself admiring other people’s green thumbs rather than digging into the soil myself.

Still, there’s something about imagining a garden that brightens even the grayest winter day. In my mind, it’s perfect — rows of tomatoes and cucumbers, sunflowers stretching toward the sky and maybe even some herbs that I’d use in a recipe exactly once before they go to seed.

The thought of a garden isn’t just about plants, though. It’s about hope. Every little seed contains the potential for something beautiful. In a way, it reminds me of people. Everyone has a story, something they’re quietly nurturing beneath the surface, waiting to grow and bloom when the time is right.

Winter is the perfect season for gathering those stories. Without the hustle of summer or the distractions of endless to-do lists, it’s a chance to slow down and really connect. I’ve always believed that people are inherently good and kind if you just take the time to get to know them.

A few weeks ago I found myself talking with an older woman holding a package wrapped in festive paper. She explained it was a gift for her great-granddaughter, who lives out of state.

“She’s growing up so fast,” she said, her voice tinged with pride and a bit of sadness. Then, almost as an afterthought, she added, “I hope she remembers me when she’s older.” There was a vulnerability in her words that caught me off guard, a poignant reminder of how deeply we all want to leave a mark on the people we love.

These moments are like little seeds themselves. They don’t seem like much at first — a quick chat, a shared laugh — but over time, they grow into something meaningful. When I pass these people at the grocery store, they are no longer faceless individuals. For a brief moment, I was able to glimpse into their world and a connection was made.

So, while I might not get around to planting an actual garden this spring (though I’m telling myself this is the year!), I can plant seeds in other ways. Seeds of understanding, kindness and connection. Winter may be cold and dark, but the people we meet along the way remind us that warmth is never far away.

And who knows? Maybe this time next year, I’ll be sharing stories about my thriving garden. Or, at the very least, about how I was able to use my herbs multiple times before they went to seed.

Albert Lean April Jeppson is a wife, mom, coach and encourager of dreams. Her column appears every Saturday.