Morning with the Living Soil

The mornings are changing again. The light arrives a little later now, filtering softly through the mist that rests like a thin shawl over the orchard. I stepped out early today, before the sun had fully decided to wake, and found the air already carrying a hint of winter, that quiet chill which brushes the skin like a memory of snow. There was also a moist winter smell which is hard to describe.

The plum and peach trees stood still, dignified, and drowsy, their leaves beginning to show flecks of yellow. Apples and apricots have already shed their leaves, and are already fast asleep. A gentle breeze wandered down from the hills, stirring the branches and carrying with it the faint fragrance of damp earth. Somewhere behind the apple trees, I heard the soft tuk-tuk of a woodpecker, followed by the lazy Tea-for-Two call of a yellow vented bulbul. They seemed in no hurry, as if the morning were meant entirely for unhurried music.

Closer to the ground, the world was awake in its own quiet way. A spider had built a fine web between two low branches of a plum tree, a perfect piece of art strung with dew drops that glistened like tiny beads. A ladybird inched across a dutch clover leaf, bright and deliberate, while a pair of dragonflies darted in and out of a shaft of sunlight that had found its way through the mist. I bent to watch a black ant struggling with a crumb twice its size, determined, unstoppable, and perhaps wiser than most of us. My kid pointed out a bumblebee visiting a fuchsia flower.

After a while, I fetched my pruning shears and trimmed a few branches that had been covered with dodder, that curious golden vine that wraps itself around anything green and thriving. I had cleared some young trees just a few days back but missed this one. It looked almost beautiful in the morning light, though it is a silent thief of life. Once that was done, I planted a few cuttings of crabapple branches in pots, hoping to propagate them. Crabapples are wonderful companions in an orchard, good pollinators and sturdy stock for grafting other cultivars. There is something quietly satisfying about giving life a new chance, even in the smallest of ways. Simple things like propagating plants or grafting makes me very happy.

Later in the morning, while sitting and working in the orchard, I received a call from a friend who wanted to know which organic fertiliser he should buy: compost, vermicompost, or manure. I smiled, for such questions always remind me how simple and fascinating soil life really is. Compost is decomposed organic matter, usually a mix of garden waste, dry leaves, and kitchen scraps. Vermicompost is compost broken down with the help of earthworms, a process that I personally think deserves to be called Wormicompost, though I was not the one to have spelt it first. Manure, on the other hand, is decomposed cow dung or similar animal waste.

For me, the difference lies not only in the process but also in what each brings to the soil. Compost, when properly made, reaches high temperatures that kill most unwanted seeds. Vermicompost helps increase the earthworm population and is rich in plant nutrients, though it stays cooler during decomposition. Manure remains the coolest of the three and carries a wealth of fungal spores, including those that help establish mycelial networks around plant roots. I use all three, depending on where they are needed. Over time, however, I hope to make the orchard self-sustaining, so that such additions become unnecessary and the land nurtures itself through its own cycles of life and decay.

As I explained these differences to my friend, I noticed a plump partridge walking up and down between some old apple trees, inspecting the ground with great seriousness. Birds, too, add their own offerings (poop) to the soil as they wander about. Having wildlife in the orchard always feels like a blessing, a sign that the land is alive and balanced. I hope to see more animals here someday, perhaps even more hares and many more birds. Maybe, in future, I will have my own domesticated animals like sheep and hens too.

Up in the trees, a flock of white-throated thrushes burst into view, their loud, cheerful chatter echoing through the valley. They moved in one great wave of sound and wings before settling in another patch of trees. I stood for a while, watching them, feeling the wind turn cooler against my face.

Winter will come soon. The trees will rest, the ground will sleep, and the hills will wear their silver mornings once more. Yet for now, the orchard still hums with quiet life and gentle work, waiting for the frost to arrive.

Autumn and the early days of winter are also a good time to feed the soil with organic fertilisers, once the trees have settled fully into their hibernation. The nutrients then sink gradually into the earth, carried down by snow and soft winter drizzles. The layer of compost or manure also serves as a mulch, keeping the roots of young trees moist and shielding them from the bite of frost.

As I walked back, the first rays of the sun touched the dewdrops on the grass, and the whole orchard seemed to sparkle.

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