The whole plant is edible and they don’t need much light – so they’re an easy, tasty treat

January can hardly be considered an abundant time of year. All but the evergreens are barren and bare. Yet there is an approach to year-round growing that, in the depths of winter, feels all the more miraculous. Microgreens are not a “type” of plant, but a method of growing leafy crops which doesn’t require much space or effort – and, importantly for now, can be done indoors – in order to achieve an unseasonably fresh burst of flavour on your dinner plate.

Any plant that is edible from top-to-toe can be grown as a microgreen. From salad leaves like lettuce and sorrel to herbs such as basil, dill, coriander and fennel, plus all the brassicas from the very delicious mustard greens and rocket to the far less spicy broccoli and kale. Also on the fuller side of the flavour profile are nasturtiums and sunflowers, which produce juicy shoots with a nutty flavour. Peas also produce a substantial shoot with pretty leaves and tendrils. Amaranth, carrot and perilla are other edible plants I am eager to try.

No over-buying or rigid planning. Here is my list of things I won’t be doing in the garden this year

Every January, I gripe about the tyranny of setting any kind of resolution while we’re in the depth of winter. Short gloomy days and long drawn-out nights are a truly uninspiring backdrop for resolving to make meaningful changes in your life. I’d love to meet whoever came up with the idea of new year resolutions and give them a piece of my mind.

So I want to try something else this January. I want to make a list of things I’m giving up. Not the punishing kind of giving up. I’m not planning to give up any of the delicious things that I’ve happily overeaten these last few weeks. Instead, I’m going to give up doing the things that make me – and more specifically, my veg patch – feel less than good enough.

All you need is oil, vinegar, steel wool and a whetstone to get everything looking as good as new

I am a tool-care evangelist. I like to keep my harvest knife sharp and my garden fork hung up tidily in the shed. At least this is what I tell myself – because I believe tool care is important despite, in reality, being the kind of grower who drops her secateurs and forgets to pick them up before an overnight rain, or leaves a trowel stuck in the ground at the end of a veg bed, convinced – erroneously – that I’ll remember to put it away as the sun starts to set.

Rust corrodes the metal parts of our garden tools, affecting how well they work and even their safety. Small patches can be removed using wire wool and perseverance but, ideally, we’d prevent it from appearing in the first place by cleaning, drying and storing our tools properly after each use. But if you, like me, are a fallible human who occasionally finds certain tools have turned the shade of autumn leaves, it is entirely possible that they can be rescued.

Struggling with gift ideas? The Guardian’s expert columnists are here to help, with everything from Yotam Ottolenghi’s favourite pans to the only nail polish brand Sali Hughes uses
• 305 best Christmas presents for 2025

Are you in the festive spirit yet? Or, just, well…a bit stressed? This time of year can feel overwhelming, but who better to calm the panic of Christmas gift shopping than the Guardian’s cohort of expert columnists?

Want to know which M&S cardi fashion editor Jess Cartner-Morley has had her eye on that gives “very posh”? Or the chocolate bars chef and author Yotam Ottolenghi is obsessed with? Beauty expert Sali Hughes has got the gifts to make Gen Z’s squeal with excitement, while Gynelle Leon selects the perfect present for the person in your life who prefers gardening to a night out.

If plants pop up where you weren’t expecting them, don’t pull them up – you never know what you might find

I’ve been as honest as possible about the rubbish growing season I’ve had this year. For reasons beyond my control – mostly life, work and weather – it’s been far from my best. I’ve hobbled along, trying to keep my cool when my trays of seed have barely germinated and while attempting to rescue root-bound plants that I’d somehow forgotten about. I’ve come to the realisation that it’s fine to have an off year as long as you embrace it. As the saying – often attributed to Buddha – goes, pain is inevitable but suffering is optional.

For me, that’s meant welcoming as many “volunteer plants” as I have space for. The term is often used as a kind synonym for weeds, but I use it to mean plants growing where I hadn’t planned for them to be. And given that I mulch with compost made from my garden waste and kitchen scraps, and leave my crops to flower and self-seed, unexpected plants always pop up.