The cardamom is in flower by February, small pale clusters low on the plant, easy to miss if you're not looking for them and impossible to miss once someone's pointed them out. It'll be months yet before there's anything to harvest — cardamom asks for patience the way most things worth growing do — but the flowering is its own small event, and the family still checks the beds for it every year like it's news.
The pepper vines climbing the silver oak are doing very little that's visible, which is exactly what they're supposed to be doing in February. Everything underground is working; nothing above ground is in a rush to show it. It's a useful thing to remember about this garden generally — most of what matters here happens slowly, out of sight, on a schedule nobody's in control of.
What does show up in February: greens, always; a stretch of good tomatoes if the frost has been kind; whatever herbs haven't minded the cold nights. The family walks the beds most mornings before the market run into town, less to inspect than out of habit, and more often than not, whatever gets pulled that morning is what ends up on the dinner table that evening — no real distance between the garden and the plate, and no real plan beyond what's ready.