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For a few years now I have resolved not to make New Year’s resolutions because they seem perennially doomed for failure and are inevitably followed by an intense bout of self-loathing. Who needs that?

But every winter as I look out the window to my frost-nipped garden, I can’t help forming the best of intentions. On the reality/dream spectrum, intentions are close to dreams but have solid grip on possibility. They are things that I might actually accomplish one day and are much more open-ended than resolutions. If I don’t get to it by the second week in January or even this year, that doesn’t mean I failed. It just means I haven’t done it yet. No biggie.

You already know about my intention to remove most of what passes for lawn in my yard. Every year so far, little by little, I have scraped more garden, patio and porch out of the grass. I’m nowhere near finished but that doesn’t mean I’m going to give up entirely and raid the freezer for ice cream. I also became determined in the last year or two to plant more native species, berries for the birds and evergreens. I mean to keep all of that in mind, as I have tried to so far, every time I visit a nursery.

For a few years I have also had the best intentions to plant for the pollinators. If visitors to my garden last year can be relied on for comments like “your garden is ALIVE!” and “I can’t believe how many different kinds of bees and wasps are on that plant!” (a sea holly — Eryngium planum), then I’m doing pretty well so far. (And, I still can’t justify going on a mint chocolate chip bender.)

My latest intention has to do with the weather up to now as well as the evident abundance at the new winter farmers’ market at Mt. Hope Farm. I’ve suddenly realized that fresh vegetables harvested during a lingering fall are even more wonderful than dime-a-dozen summer ones. I have every intention of asking my carpenter (whose inner chef will love the idea) for a couple of 4x8-foot raised beds in which, come August after the beans I fully intend to plant have come out, I might sow carrots — so much sweeter tasting after frost; spinach and lettuce, slow to bolt when it’s chilly; radishes; and garlic. I’ll keep growing beets, kale and cabbage in the flower borders amongst the daisies and sea holly because they’re handsome but won’t bother grow brussels sprouts because I’d much rather wander the farmers’ market with everyone else clutching a sprouted stalk and grinning like a goon.

Row covers over those raised beds — or better yet, cold frames — could probably keep us in fresh greens all winter. Cool season crops like kale, spinach and even lettuce can take it pretty chilly if not completely frozen. Row covers, usually made from a bright-light weave of rain-permeable plastic-y fabric pinned down over metal hoops, prevent frost from settling on tender leaves and help keep hungry wildlife out.

Cold frames provide extra insurance especially against the weather. Whether dug down below the frost line and/or heated, south-facing planting boxes topped with glass or heavy plastic act like miniature greenhouses to capture the sun’s heat and hold it in the soil. I know gardeners who eat lettuce all winter long and garnish their chicken dishes with sprigs of fresh rosemary.

My list, which I’ll be tempted to keep adding to, is already starting to feel a little bit ambitious for a busy new year. But I have the best of intentions. And there will always be plenty of ice cream in the freezer.

Kristin Green is the interpretive horticulturist at Blithewold Mansion, Gardens & Arboretum in Bristol. She has worked at Blithewold since 2003 and has written their garden blog (blog.blithewold.org) since 2007.