The Veg Patch
Creative Hibernation

As the Winter frost thaws and the veg patch is put to sleep, I find myself entering a period of creative solitude.

Photography by Alex Sedgmond
Eco-therapist and wildlife artist Ed Harrison writing in his sketchbook, outside in a frosty winter vegetable patch.
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Creative Hibernation

2 min read
The Veg Patch
January 30th, 2025

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It’s probably too late to say Happy New Year, but I’m going to say it anyway. Happy New Year, wherever you are.

If you’re in the UK, I hope you’ve managed to stay warm during the cold snap, as Arctic airflows blanketed the country in snow and frost. I don’t know about you, but recent headlines have stirred feelings of fear and uncertainty as the worlds of politics, social media, and tech billionaires collide.

In moments like these, I try to turn to what I know to be real. Simple, tangible things—beyond the reach of algorithms and pixels.

Glistening frost. Warm breath on cold air. Crisp, frozen leaves.

An overview of eco-therapist and wildlife artist Ed Harrison's frosty winter vegetable patch.
"A frosty leaf resting on the edge of a raised bed in eco-therapist and wildlife artist Ed Harrison's vegetable patch.
Eco-therapist and wildlife artist Ed Harrison standing in warm clothing otuside in a frosty winter vegetable patch.

A cold, frosty morning in the veg patch. Photography by Alex Sedgmond.

As always, the veg patch has been a place of refuge, as my growing season comes to an end. The garlic is in the ground. The beds have been covered. The last of the chard has been harvested.

This feels especially fitting, as I find myself on the cusp of a period of creative hibernation—ready to nurture the seeds of a few projects that have been lying dormant for some time.

Eco-therapist and wildlife artist Ed Harrison bending over to collect seeds from a frosty winter vegetable patch.
Eco-therapist and wildlife artist Ed Harrison bending over to look at his sketchbook in a frosty winter raised bed.
Eco-therapist and wildlife artist Ed Harrison bending over to forage seeds from the soil in a raised bed in a vegetable patch.

Gathering seeds to plant next Spring. Photos by Alex Sedgmond.

Creative hibernation (noun)

1. A period of intentional withdrawal by a creative individual to focus deeply on developing ideas or projects, free from external distractions, demands, or societal “noise.”

2. A temporary retreat from creative output to allow for reflection, inspiration, the renewal of creative energy, or the refinement of one's artistic vision.

Eco-therapist and wildlife artist Ed Harrison sits writing in his sketchbook in a frosty winter vegetable patch.
Eco-therapist and wildlife artist Ed Harrison looking down and writing in his sketchbook outside in the vegetable patch.
Eco-therapist and wildlife artist Ed Harrison reaching up to harvest seeds from a runner bean plant in winter.
Eco-therapist and wildlife artist Ed Harrison opening up a runner bean to reveal it's seeds in the vegetable plot.
Hands of eco-therapist and wildlife artist Ed Harrison in a winter vegetable patch, opening a runner bean to reveal its seeds.

Harvesting runner beans, Dad’s favourite. We handed out packets of these seeds to guests at Dad’s funeral. Photos by Alex Sedgmond.

An Ode to the Earthworm

Creative hibernation often brings to mind the image of someone quietly crafting their work—a writer, musician, artist, or thought leader—their ideas born from moments of stillness, reflection, and solitude.

Lately, however, I’ve found inspiration in a more unexpected figure: the humble earthworm.

Away from the limelight of praise and blame, fame and fortune, they continue the good work—with no need for recognition.

A garlic bulb on the edge of a frosty wooden raised bed.
Hands of eco-therapist and wildlife artist Ed Harrison holding garlic in the vegetable plot.
Hands of eco-therapist and wildlife artist Ed Harrison planting garlic in the soil.

Planting garlic. One of the few crops I grow over the Winter. Photos by Alex Sedgmond.

Winter Earthworm (a poem)

Topsoil turns to stone—
As Winter frost sets in.
Deep beneath the stillness,
The humble earthworm continues
Its all-important work,
Weaving dirt with patience and care.

Eco-therapist and wildlife artist Ed Harrison observing chard in a frosty winter raised bed.
Eco-therapist and wildlife artist Ed Harrison bending over to harvest chard from the vegetable garden.
Eco-therapist and wildlife artist Ed Harrison harvesting chard from a frosty winter raised bed.
Overhead shot of eco-therapist and wildlife artist Ed Harrison's open sketchbook resting on the edge of a frosty winter raised bed.

Harvesting rainbow chard, as the last vibrant colours disappear from the ground. Photos by Alex Sedgmond.



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As mentioned, I’ll be stepping away from a few commitments to make space for something new to grow, so I’m unsure when my next broadcast will reach you.

Until then, stay safe, and go slow.

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