I spend a lot of time from fall through spring fantasizing about my dream house. I think about its ceiling and walls of glass or insulated polycarbonate, and how it has drainage in the floor. It’s fitted with fans, shades, and vents that open automagically when the temperature rises. Low temperatures trip a heater to cut the chill. It sits in full sun, out from under any trees and faces south to maximize winter light. Furnishings consist mainly of shelves. Lots of shelves. And a bench at one end, just the right height for potting things up. It has a hose that reaches every corner (and never kinks or leaks — a gardener can dream), bins full of soil, and a radio tuned to my favorite station. Also, in my mind’s eye, hundreds of plants grow in this place three seasons out of four.

I don’t actually need a greenhouse because I don’t need hundreds more plants. But we gardeners can’t help wanting. And until we win the lottery or convince the other members of our household to give up groceries in order to support our gardening habit, we make do with what we have. Flat surfaces in the living room, and in my case, a glassed-in south facing entry porch I call the plantry.

My carpenter recently told me he’s looking forward to having plants in the living room again. Maybe he’s putting off building my dreamhouse or maybe it’s because over the summer our windowsills and tables are home only to cats and a priceless collection of dust.

A good sized Boston fern (Nephrolepsis exaltata ‘Tiger Fern’) was the first plant to make the return trip, not because it got too cold outside but because a gust tumbled it off the deck. After tending to broken fronds and cutting all of last year’s growth back to the pot, it was almost small enough to put back without evicting cats. Its fresh eruption of marbled chartreuse fronds are the brightest light in the living room again.

I also brought a mistletoe fig (Ficus deltoidea) back inside for rehab and T.L.C. It seems to be suffering an unknown malady most likely caused by either under or overwatering. I am guilty of both. If it doesn’t look healthier in a week or two, I’ll try repotting the poor thing. I’d hate to lose it and not just because it has grown ever so slowly from a cutting a friend gave me about a decade ago. It’s one of the most forgiving (usually) low-light houseplants and I love its leathery lute-shaped leaves, and constant supply of tiny orangey-green fruit. I took some fresh cuttings just in case I need to start over.

Good timing, because I recently set up a “propagation bench” in the plantry for rooting tip cuttings of my favorite tender perennials. I fitted a temporarily summer-vacant shelf with a tiny heating mat that was included in a seed starting kit I found on closeout at Benny’s, and tented it with a sheet of cloudy 6-mil plastic to create a bright, humid enclosure. I struck a few fig tips, along with cuttings of various and sundry scented geraniums and salvias, in peat packs filled with dampened perlite. I mist them every morning and afternoon. Within a week or two I should have more plants than I have room for in the plantry, living room, and next year’s garden.

Which makes me wonder, what will I do when it’s time to start seeds in the spring? I guess I’ll have to make do, as always, and keep dreaming about my greenhouse.

Kristin Green is the horticulturist at Mount Hope Farm and author of 'Plantiful: Start Small, Grow Big with 150 Plants that Spread, Self-Sow, and Overwinter'. Follow her blog at trenchmanicure.com.