So your garden’s done. Kaput. Brown. You’re looking at the pile of tools by the back steps like it’s a homework assignment you don’t want to start. Me too. Every single year.

Let’s not make this a big production. Let’s just not ruin our stuff.

Step one: The hose. Don’t just coil it and leave it. The water inside will freeze and split the lining. You’ll get that weird bulging hose next year that sprays sideways. Hook it over the fence, open both ends, and let it drain for an hour. Then coil it and put it in the garage. Not glamorous, but crucial.

Step two: The big clean. I do this with a radio on. Loud. Grab everything—shovels, rakes, trowels. Knock the big dirt clods off on the sidewalk. Then, get a bucket of water and an old rag. Wipe them down. Really get the mud off the joints and crevices. That’s it. You’re not detailing a car. You’re just getting the major gunk off so it doesn’t hold moisture all winter.

My Weirdly Effective Blade Hack

Here’s my secret weapon for blades: Hand sanitizer. No, really. The alcohol cuts through plant sap and gunk on pruners and shears instantly. Squirt some on, work the hinge, wipe it off. It dries fast and doesn’t leave residue. I keep a little bottle in my tool caddy just for this.

For rust prevention, I’m cheap. I use vegetable oil or the leftover oil from the last time I cooked bacon (strained, obviously). I pour a little on a paper towel and wipe down every metal part I just cleaned. It leaves a thin, protective film. Does it smell like a kitchen? Briefly. Does it work? Absolutely. My tools don’t rust.

The 90-Second Handle Rescue

Wooden handles. Feel them. Are they rough? Grab the sandpaper from your junk drawer—any grit will do—and give them a few quick passes. Then, rub them with literally any oil you have. Vegetable, mineral, even olive oil. The wood sucks it right up. It prevents cracking and feels so much better in your hand. It takes 90 seconds per tool.

Now, the real issue. WHERE?

You stare into your garage or shed. It’s already full of bikes, camping gear, and that exercise bike you use as a coat rack. Your tools are going to get buried, bent, or knocked over.

Get them off the floor. This is non-negotiable. I screwed a bunch of giant hooks into a beam in my garage. My shovel, rake, and hoe hang vertically. They take up zero floor space. For small tools, I nailed a strip of wood with holes drilled in it to the wall and stuck the handles in. It looks janky. It works perfectly.

When Your Stuff Needs a Winter Vacation

But what about the bulky stuff? The mower. The fifty bags of mulch you bought on sale. The terra cotta pots that will crack if they freeze. The patio furniture cushions.

This is the moment of truth. You can try to Tetris it into your existing space and live with the daily annoyance. Or, you can be kind to yourself.

Last autumn, I broke down and rented a small storage unit. I was skeptical. It felt like an admission of failure. I went to a local place, like the kind you probably run, and got the smallest unit they had. It was cheaper than I thought.

I loaded in the mower (after running the gas dry), the bags of soil, the pots, the cushions. I shut the door. The relief was physical. My garage was suddenly, shockingly, a place for my car again. The tools on the wall were accessible. I wasn’t playing archaeological dig every time I needed a trowel.

Come spring, I drove over, opened the unit, and everything was exactly as I left it. Dry. Clean. No mouse nests. No cracked pots. It was all just… waiting. It felt less like storage and more like a seasonally-adjusted closet. It gave me room to breathe at home.

The Bottom Line: It’s About Sanity, Not Perfection

The bottom line isn’t perfection. It’s just giving your gear a fighting chance.

• Clean off the mud.
• Wipe metal with an oily rag.
• Get it off the damn floor.
• And if the seasonal overflow is choking your life, it’s okay to move it off-site for a few months. It’s not extra space; it’s reclaimed sanity.

Do this, and next April, you’ll grab your clean, smooth-handled shovel and get right to work. You won’t be spending your first gardening weekend with a wire brush and a foul mood. And that’s the whole point.