Blanket On, Blanket Off..The Steadiness of Showing Up

Maybe this is only true for native Floridians... maybe others can relate? There’s something about a cold night in Tampa that sneaks up on you. I mean, I know every year we are going to have some colder days throughout winter. Yet, we get so spoiled with warm, sunny days even in December and January with temps in the 70s, that I will often get startled when I see 30s/40s in the forecast.

One day everything is glowing and tropical and happy, and the next we’re pulling out sheets, tapestries, towels, and cloths (whatever we can find) and checking temperatures every day trying to predict how to best care for our plants. Any plant lover or gardener will tell you that these huge swings in weather and temperature will invite us to lean into our creativity and resourcefulness to keep our babies happy, healthy and thriving.

Recently, a good friend of mine planted some new seedlings and flowers in the garden. We both got excited on one of those 70 degree warm, sunny, January days and it teased us into thinking we were already moving into spring. Just as she felt the inspiration to get her hands into the dirt, I also started re-potting plant clippings around the same time, so there were a lot of new, fresh plant babies to tend to.

There was a longer stretch of cold days, which seemed a little colder than normal and maybe a little unexpected for some of us native Floridians or for those who are more acclimated to tropical, warm climates. My almost 11-year-old dog, Bonnie, isn't a huge fan of cold weather. She insists on wearing a sweater (a specific one that she won't let me take off for days!) and will usually take her time or walk a little slower to give her body time to adjust to the colder weather. 

On these chilly evenings, my dog and I sort of fell into a rhythm. At sunset we’d take a longer walk around the property and tuck all the plants in... the clippings, the flowers, the little potato seeds and sprouts, the baby trees that have only been in the ground a few months. Then at sunrise we’d go back out and uncover them so they could breath and feel some warm sunshine.

Blanket on, Blanket off. We did this every day. A sweet ritual that became something I would genuinely look forward to... well sometimes. Sometimes my mind would feel a sort of resistance to the project.. like it was a chore or something that I had to complete to check off my list.  I would still show up though. And somewhere between all the methods of care.... the tugging and smoothing out of fabric, the placement of rocks and stones on top of the fabric to hold it in place, moving smaller potted plants to be near larger plants for protection and warmth... it started to feel like more than yard work. It reminded me of a practice.

I can’t make the plants grow any faster. I can't guarantee they will make it through this cold night. But I can keep showing up to care for them. And the steadiness of that isn't very glamorous. No one claps for you for remembering to tuck in the plants. You may even over look it completely as something that stands out or matters. But by returning to the same ritual again again, something quietly builds...

Pause with me for a moment.
Is there somewhere in your life where you can feel yourself practicing this idea of steadiness? Is there something you keep returning to even if it feels small or insignificant? And what helps you come back on the days you feel less motivated to?

This idea of steadiness also reminds me of what young trees have taught me. They are still figuring things out.. their roots are learning where the water runs, the trunk and branches are learning how the wind moves, and the leaves learn where the sunlight lands. They can't rush this part of the process. We can't just grab the trunk of the tree and shake it hard, demanding it to "Be steady and stable already!". Instead, we have to create conditions that will allow stability to happen in it's own time. And that requires a certain level of patience. I don't always offer that for myself right away, can you relate? Do you feel newly planted somewhere in your life? Are you learning about your environment, your capacity or maybe your needs? What do you do that helps you feel grounded where you are at in the process?


Every night my dog and I would tuck the plants in. And almost every time a gentle thought would enter my mind. "Support doesn't make you weak. It makes survival possible." The act of placing blankets over the plants didn't make it less cold. But somehow it allowed the plants to survive through those very cold nights, even allowing the potatoes to really start sprouting to the surface of the soil. I was told recently that a cold snap can do that for potatoes, it's fun to learn about how the conditions of nature can affect so many things differently!


This ritual of tending to the plants invited me to reflect on my life and where I may be (or maybe need to be) using a frost blanket to protect and nurture me during harsher conditions.

It's usually something simple for me.... a walk... a breath... a conversation... going to sleep earlier than I want to.... letting someone else help... The support I need is usually simple but it's always humbling.

What about you? What practices do you lean into when things start to feel more intense? Or do believe you should be tougher than nature?

Each morning felt like a little surprise. Bonnie and I would walk to each set of plants, pull the covers back, and somehow the plants would still be alive! With colors sometimes even more vibrant than the night before.

Resilience is subtle like that. In my experience, it doesn’t always look powerful in the moment. Sometimes it just feels like you're making it through the night, the day, the moment. And then out of no-where it seems like things are brighter or maybe there is more clarity than before.

Can you take a moment to really acknowledge where have you made it through something hard? How you grew as a result of that? Or if you actually have given yourself credit for your resiliency?

Sunset, blanket on... Sunrise, blanket off.

I just really love the rhythm of the ritual. A practice that shows there’s a time to go within and a time to open. Strength isn’t about being exposed all the time. Having wisdom is knowing when it's time to uncover and when it's time for extra support.

Can you notice in your life what might need a little more covering or care? Maybe something that's asking to be uncovered for the warm light to stream in and show you how you've made it through the night... still here... resilient... What would trusting in this cycle feel like in your body?

Walking with my dog in those brisk mornings and evenings, contributing in this small act of devotion to future growth, I realized something: Steadiness is love over time.

It’s choosing to tend to something even when the results aren’t visible yet. It’s having faith in the roots when I can't see them. And when something is waiting to be uncovered, can I meet it with the same patience and trust that I offer these tender little plants?

The practice of showing up can lead to steadiness, and that steadiness can lend a hand to hold onto when I wake up, take off the blanket and realize that some things did not survive. Because I don't want to just consider things going "my way" and everything working out the way I hope it will. No, nature has taught me that I can't hold onto anything too tightly. There are times where the cold will freeze off what is no longer meant for me to create space in the garden for new seedlings to grow and thrive under the conditions that I can sustain within that season of my life. The steadiness I practice isn't a secret oath with the universe to bring everything I desire to me... It's a practice of accepting that what's for me will be and what's not for me needs to be let free. Que sera, sera. Or if you're familiar with the Buddhist farmer parable. I often think of the parallels between that story and my life - ( good thing, bad thing, who knows? ). You may have to hear the story first before you understand that last line.

If any of this stirred something up in you, I’d love to hear your thoughts. Next time you’re at the studio, or if you want to send me a message, tell me what you’re tending to these days. Whatever you’re protecting, whatever you’re growing, I hope you keep showing up for it. I’ll be out there doing the same.



🌱 Katie Beene

This photo was taken on one of the coldest mornings with temps just at or below 30. There was frost on the roof, the plant covers, and several plants that were not covered did not survive the night. I trust that they will grow back if they are as resilient as I think they are. My favorite part of this photo is the contrast of the white frost and crisp dying grass against the blue sky and bright sunlight peeking through into the leaves.