Previous Permie Corner articles and resources can be found here
By Lorraine Sharaf
It’s the second week of February. The winter solstice is behind us and, as of February 2nd, Punxsutawney Phil has declared that there will be 6 more weeks of winter. For those of you who have never heard of Punxsutawney Phil, think groundhog. If you still draw a blank, watch the movie “Ground Hog Day” or click on the link at the bottom of this section.
A long winter means that we still have time for cold-season preparation before spring really begins. Farmers are deep into spreadsheets and weather predictions—calculating yields, planning for new CSA members, repairing equipment, monitoring soil conditions, and keeping animals healthy through the cold. Gardeners have their own winter work: sharpen tools, organize and swap seeds, order seeds, repair outdoor structures, add compost, and prune perennials. For all of us, this is the moment to review last year’s notes and refine plans for the season ahead.
It’s also the time of year when enthusiasm can outpace good sense. With nearly an hour more daylight since December 21, the urge to start seedlings too early—or drop seeds into frozen ground—can be hard to resist. That balance between action and patience is exactly what this month’s permaculture principle addresses.
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Permaculture Principle #9: Use Small and Slow Solutions
🐌 Icon: The Snail — steady progress, energy efficiency, and growth at a human scale
Principle 9 is symbolized by the snail: a creature that moves slowly but with purpose, conserving energy as it carries its home. In permaculture, small and slow solutions are easier to maintain, more adaptable to change, and less likely to fail than large, fast systems. Their spiral shell exemplifies nature’s most stable and recurring pattern, growing gradually while maintaining balance and strength.
Permaculture co-founders David Holmgren and Bill Mollison arrived at this principle from slightly different angles but landed on the same essential message.
Holmgren emphasizes design intelligence: if a system grows at a manageable scale, you can observe it, learn from it, and adjust before mistakes become expensive. Small experiments are safer, because failures stay limited and educational rather than overwhelming.
Mollison, by contrast, was deeply concerned with scale and human capacity. He warned that systems designed too large or too fast can overwhelm the people responsible for maintaining them, creating dependency and fragility. Resilience, in his view, comes from systems people can understand, care for, and adapt locally over time.
Together, their thinking reinforces a simple but powerful insight: lasting systems aren’t shaped by speed or size, but by attention, patience, and the ability to respond as conditions change.
🍳 A quick “Safe to Fail” reminder (and a kitchen example)
In my September article, I introduced the term “Safe to Fail”—testing new ideas at a small enough scale that you can afford for them not to work, learn from the results, and tweak (or abandon) the experiment without draining your budget, time, or energy.
I learned this again in the kitchen recently: I added several new “health-boosting” ingredients into my morning smoothie… and created something the compost appreciated far more than I did. 😄 Next time? One new ingredient at a time, tested in a small glass first.
🌳 Why This Principle Works in Nature
Nature rarely builds all at once. Soil forms through the gradual accumulation of organic matter. Perennial plants spend years establishing roots before putting on visible growth. Forests develop in stages, with each phase creating the conditions for what comes next.
These systems succeed because they develop at a pace that allows plants, animals, and soil to build relationships and to respond and adapt to changing circumstances.
Learn more about the life cycle of forests: Forest Succession in Southeastern Pennsylvania―
🪴 Garden-Scale Example
Rather than redesigning an entire garden at once, try starting with a single bed or small section, and choose hardy plants that can establish themselves in your local conditions.
Building incrementally helps you preserve the soil structure and the relationships between organisms that have developed over time. It also gives you a manageable space to observe closely: you’ll notice how water moves, how soil responds, which plants thrive, and which struggle. Mistakes stay small and instructive. That information becomes the foundation for better decisions later.
🧑🤝🧑 Small & Slow at the Community Scale
This principle doesn’t just apply to gardens—it shows up in strong community food systems as well. Most successful local food efforts don’t appear fully formed. They begin with a handful of farmers, a small market, a pilot program, or a single partnership that’s tested, refined, and strengthened over time.
When projects grow slowly, relationships have time to form, logistics can be worked out, and trust can develop between growers, organizers, and eaters. By contrast, efforts that expand too quickly could collapse or struggle along, uneven, under-supported, and hard to maintain. Small beginnings allow communities to learn what works locally—and to build something joyful and durable.
🧭 February’s Permaculture Tip
This month’s tip comes from avid Permie Corner reader, permaculture practitioner, and business owner Jarret Raiguel of Earth-Fed Living:
In today’s world, instant gratification is everywhere, but landscapes don’t reward speed. They reward thoughtful timing and observation. Trying to rush growth, or expecting immediate results, often leads to mistakes, wasted energy, and frustration. Patience and incremental steps allow systems to mature naturally, building resilience, yield, and self-maintaining patterns over time.
Hot Tip: Start one system at a time. If you can’t maintain it during your busiest week and can’t afford to fix it if it fails, it’s too big to scale up until it proves it can support itself.
Click here to learn about: Earth-Fed Living and to watch short instructional YouTube videos.
🌾 Closing Reflection
Small and slow solutions remind us that we don’t need to do everything at once to move forward. When we design with patience, we allow both the land—and ourselves—to learn as we go. In fact, building slowly often leads to better outcomes, because you’ll almost certainly adjust course as you discover what your land is asking for.
Progress that lasts is built step by step.





Another great article. Thank you for doing these.
This is hands down my favorite permaculture principle. I learned it before I ever heard the word permaculture. I learned it in a kitchen.
In cooking, you don’t build a great dish by throwing everything in the pot at once and hoping for the best. You season in stages. You taste. You adjust. You let things reduce. You learn how heat, time, and ingredients actually behave together.
Small and slow doesn’t mean doing the minimum it’s about doing it at a pace where you care, skill and reality live
Wonderful article, Lorraine! I am with Jarrett on this one – this is one of my favorite principles as well. The slow and small approach is a major contrast between permaculture and large-scale agriculture which is fast and large. It’s really easy to get carried away when implementing a design for any system. It can be tempting to go full-on and try to get everything planted as soon as possible. But it’s so much better to take on a design piece by piece.
I was fortunate that I took a piecemeal approach to installing our orchard design on our farm. Not with a tractor augur that could dig hundreds of tree holes in a single day. But the old-fashioned way with a shovel, a few trees at a time. Because after the first year, when I had planted maybe 20 trees, I realized I wasn’t really happy with the design and wanted to change it and make the rows wider and remove all the dwarf trees I had planted. It was the right choice for sure. But because I had only planted 20 trees and not 200, it wasn’t too hard to make some changes and pull out some of the trees without having to rip out an entire orchard. I also realized after a few years that some of the more experimental species and cultivars I was trying out were not making the cut. The slow and small approach let me cut my losses and remove those species and cultivars from the rest of my orchard plantings (and eventually rip out the failed “trial trees”). Each year we planted more trees until the orchard was finally filled out. And ten years later, the orchard is going stronger than ever, with a great mix of resilient species and cultivars that thrive without sprays. And it’s largely thanks to the small and slow approach we took.