The orchard I began looking after had been neglected for decades before it came into my care. Most of the old fruit trees had either died or were nearing the end of their lives. Over the last ten years, I have been replanting, slowly and patiently, introducing new varieties of fruit trees to bring the orchard back to life. Hybrid apples, pears, peaches, plums, apricots, various brambles, and many others.
One of the greatest challenges here has always been the soil. Much of it is heavy clay, unyielding when dry, turning into something close to stone, and sticky, waterlogged, and slushy when the rains arrive. Water tends to stagnate, making life hard both for the trees and for me.
When I first took over, I chose to step back and let the orchard breathe. For several years, I stopped tilling and completely gave up on chemicals. Weeds and wild bushes took over, but beneath the surface, their roots were doing quiet work. They loosened the soil, added organic matter, and slowly began turning that dense clay into something more loamy and forgiving. My no-spray policy further helped restore balance. Fungal networks began to thrive, earthworms returned in numbers, and with every season, the topsoil grew richer and more alive.
Nearly a decade later, the orchard feels like it has found its rhythm again. I keep the fruit trees clear of overpowering growth, trimming back the tallest weeds and bushes when needed, but I still don’t till and I still don’t spray. Nature does most of the work when we step aside and give her time.
Yet, planting a new tree here is still a lesson in patience. The soil remains heavy in many patches, and every pit I dig reminds me of its stubborn compactness. To help the young trees establish themselves, I amend the planting hole with a bit of gypsum to loosen the clay, and bonemeal to provide gentle, long-lasting nourishment. Over this, I add compost and generous layers of mulch. With time, gypsum improves soil texture, bonemeal supports strong roots, and mulch protects the soil life while feeding it steadily.
The more organic matter the soil holds, the healthier it becomes. Experts suggest that a good soil should contain at least 5% organic matter. My orchard soil hasn’t reached that richness yet, but with time and care, it is steadily improving. While most people pour their energy into building concrete walls, I find joy in building soil.
Soil doesn’t transform overnight. It takes years — sometimes many — but I’ve come to see that as a gift rather than a challenge. The slow pace at which clay softens, worms multiply, fungi spread, and humus builds is the same rhythm that reminds me what slow living truly is. In the orchard, there are no shortcuts, but there are rewards at every step. Nature may move slowly, but she always works wonders with time.
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