Spring doesn't arrive all at once in Minnesota. It creeps in — a warm afternoon here, a cold snap there — and if you blink you might miss the moment when the yard actually turns. I've learned not to wait for it to be officially warm. I start before it's ready, because getting ready for spring is the ritual.
It starts inside
All winter my plants live in the sitting room. The sunroom is too cold to overwinter them so every fall they make the migration in, and I run a humidifier all winter long — moving it around daily — because radiant heat is wonderful and also absolutely brutal on plants. I am fully committed to keeping them healthy. Ask anyone who has watched me relocate a humidifier at 7am in January.
By March I start moving everything back to the sunroom. Last year I added a full plant shelving system when the collection officially outgrew the floor space — it holds everything beautifully and has the added bonus of creating a layer of privacy from the street. The two Thonet rocking chairs in there I found individually on Facebook Marketplace. The side table is a family heirloom. The brass lamp came home with me from an estate sale. Once the shelving is loaded and the light is coming in through those black-framed windows, the seedlings go in — peppers and herbs in terracotta pots lined up along the window ledge. That lineup of pots is my personal signal that we are moving in the right direction.
Then the front porch
Our 1906 Victorian in Saint Paul has a front porch that is really about arrival — the hanging planters, the front door, the first impression. Every spring the hanging baskets go back up and the planters flanking the steps get replanted. The baskets came from Style Society. The bird bath in the corner is an estate sale find. The lanterns are from Facebook Marketplace and the wreath is from Etsy. This year I did Costco for the planters and I'm not even a little embarrassed about it — the color combinations were already done for me, deep burgundy and chartreuse with tradescantia spilling over the edge of a dark bowl, and sometimes that's just the right answer. Last year I went to the farmers market and picked out every plant individually. Both approaches work. The goal is the same: color, texture, something that stops you on the sidewalk.
Then the back porch, which is where we actually live
The back porch is covered, which is one of my favorite things about this house. Covered means we can sit out there in the rain. Covered means the season stretches in both directions — we're out there earlier in spring and later into fall than we'd otherwise dare. Because it's covered, nothing comes in for winter — the furniture stays year round. This year I added arborvitae in big pots for privacy and more greenery. We tried juniper last year and lost them — arborvitae are hardy to -20 and have plenty of room to grow, so they're staying put permanently. Already a completely different back porch.
Come spring I freshen everything up — ferns go in the hanging baskets, the couch cushions come back out, and suddenly it's a room again. The seating situation here came together slowly and almost entirely through vintage and secondhand finds. It started with the coffee table and the couch. Then a rocking chair from Goodwill for $15. A pair of wicker chairs from Style Society for under $100. Last year a pair of rattan chairs from Retro Wanderlust — $100 for the pair. You do not need to spend a lot of money to create a space that feels considered and comfortable. You just need patience and the willingness to keep an eye out.
The pergola is the dining room
Separate from the back porch, the pergola is where we eat outside. Breakfast, lunch, brunch, dinner — if the weather cooperates we're out there. The bistro table and chairs are Facebook Marketplace finds. The hanging baskets on the columns this year are a coleus and tradescantia mix, burgundy and lime green and deep purple, and they are frankly outperforming themselves against the warm cedar overhead.
And then the raspberries
We have a serious raspberry situation in the backyard. Two yields — early summer and then again in late summer going into fall — and by midsummer we're having raspberry picking parties. Friends come over, we pick, there's a BBQ, someone always eats more than they bring inside. It's one of those afternoons that sounds very wholesome and also genuinely is.
The whole thing — the sunroom seedlings, the front porch planters, the back porch setup, the pergola — exists to hold those moments. The plants and the furniture and the hanging baskets are just the stage. The people are the point.
That's what I'm really doing when I'm lining up terracotta pots in March and debating coleus combinations at Costco. I'm getting the stage ready.
If you're ready to create an outdoor space that actually gets used — one that fits your life and your people — I'd love to help. A complimentary discovery call is a great place to start. Book yours here.
