Why I Grow From Seed (Even When It’s Easier Not To)

I have to admit, there is something deeply appealing about just going to the store — whether it’s the grocery store or a garden center — and picking up a finished thing. A carton of sour cream. A tomato plant already in a gallon pot. A tray of flowers in bloom, ready to be planted.

And honestly, when you’re first getting started, buying plants isn’t a bad idea at all. Sometimes it’s the most practical choice. Some plants don’t grow well from seed, or they take years to reach a meaningful size. I happily buy perennials as starts or full-sized plants when it makes sense. Salvia, for example, is notoriously finicky from seed. I’ll buy that every time.

But growing from seed gives me something that buying never will.

There is a particular feeling I get when I curl up on the couch — sometimes in the middle of winter with a cup of tea, sometimes in summer with a glass of lemonade — and flip through seed catalogs. Whether they’re paper or online doesn’t matter. What matters is the act of choosing.

This tomato over that one — not because it’s available, but because it has better flavor for canning.
This snap pea because it’s bred for sweetness, not shipping.
A shorter cosmos because I know exactly where it’s going to live, and a taller one would overwhelm the space.

Those decisions simply aren’t available to you when you’re standing in a garden center, choosing from whatever happens to be on the bench that week.

Seeds give you authorship.

They let you choose how a plant behaves, not just how it looks. Whether it’s bred for heat tolerance or cold nights. Whether it thrives in humidity. Whether it’s compact, sprawling, early, late, prolific, subtle, dramatic.

That matters to me — especially as climates shift and weather becomes less predictable. Growing from seed allows me to select varieties that can handle drought and humidity, or cold snaps and long summers. It gives me flexibility and resilience in a way buying plants never quite does.

Nairobi snap peas harvested from the Potager at Hilltop

I still remember the first time I grew snap peas Nairobi after hearing Sarah Raven rave about them in the UK. Once I tried them, that was it. I haven’t looked for another snap pea since. When you find your variety, there’s a kind of peace in knowing you don’t have to keep searching.

There’s also the simple truth that nothing tastes quite as good as something you chose and grew yourself. Watching a plant go from seed to plate changes how you experience food. It adds weight to it. Care. Attention. Intention.

And there’s another layer to it, too — commitment.

When I grow something from seed, I’m more invested in it. I notice it more. I tend to it differently. There’s a quiet responsibility that comes from raising something from its very beginning. The same is true with flowers. Cutting a bloom that began as a tiny seedling never stops feeling a little miraculous to me.

Growing from seed isn’t always easier. It takes planning. It takes patience. It takes a willingness to fail and try again.

But it gives me something I can’t buy: choice, connection, and a sense of authorship over my garden and my table.

And for me, that’s reason enough.