Soil First

If I ever had to limit myself to only one activity here in the orchard, it would be building the soil. Everything else that we usually consider essential becomes secondary when soil is alive and balanced. Clearing the orchard floor or pruning or managing pests or correcting deficiencies all matter, yet none of them equals the impact of healthy soil. Even watering becomes far less critical. Soil that is rich in organic matter and well structured can absorb and hold water so efficiently that trees can thrive just on rain, snow, and dew.

Soil is not simply the ground beneath us. It is a living system. It is the base through which minerals flow, the habitat where microbes feed and multiply, the medium that holds water and air in a delicate balance, and the physical structure that anchors every plant. What I have now realized is that the health of an orchard is nothing more than the visible expression of the health of its soil.

My own journey began some years ago with trying to understand what I had. Initially, I collected soil samples from many parts of the orchard and sent them for an extensive analysis. The results were sobering. Most macro nutrients were grossly deficient. The pH had become too low after years of leaching on the mountain slope. The balance of minerals was disturbed in a way that affected both availability and uptake. Organic matter levels were quite low, which meant poor water holding and weak microbial life. Most parts of the orchard had heavy clay where water drained slowly and roots struggled to breathe. However, other sections had rocky and sandy patches with very little silt and clay, and water passed through too quickly. It was clear that this soil was not one uniform entity but a mosaic of conditions, each needing its own care. Though one thing was obvious it needed care everywhere.

Before doing anything else, and in disagreement to the prevalent consensus, I stopped all chemical use. No pesticides, no insecticides, no fungicides, no weedicides, in fact no ‘cides’ of any kind. No even any chemical fertilisers. This single decision changed the entire trajectory of the orchard. The land needed time to heal. I allowed old forest trees and fruit trees to grow naturally. This simple act of stepping back and letting the place become wilder worked like a reset switch for the ecosystem. Over the next seasons the trees grew taller and fuller. Their leaf fall layered the orchard floor with natural mulch. This set in motion the quiet work of decomposition. Leaves broke down. Fungi sent out their hyphae. Bacteria and protists returned. Soil organisms that had been suppressed by tilling and chemical fertilisers slowly regained their place. I could see the change happening. Each year the presence of mushrooms increased. Their fruiting bodies were a sign that the fungal networks underground were becoming strong again. As the soil revived, even the older fruit trees showed renewed vigour and the quality of the fruit improved.

Once the natural processes were underway, I began adding material to build structure and restore balance. I collected dry leaves from the orchard and nearby woodland. I used wood shavings, compost and occasionally old manure too. I broadcast white Dutch clover seeds to act as a cover crop, fix nitrogen and protect the soil surface. Wildflower seeds from the region added diversity and supported beneficial insects. I also used natural amendments like neem cake, sea kelp, fish meal, blood meal and bone meal at places where the initial soil testing report had given extremely concerning results. These natural sources are rich in trace minerals and organic compounds that nurture microbial activity.

With time and reading I realised that the true correction is not only about supplying nutrients but about restoring the ratios among them. Plants do not need huge amounts of every element. They need balance. In fact they do better in deficient soils but where the elements are in proper ratio, compared to soils rich in elements but with grossly altered ratios of these elements with respect to each other. Soil must also have the capacity to hold nutrients and release them through cation and anion exchange. (Let’s discuss CEC levels when we meet if it interests you). This depends on organic matter, clay content and the biological activity in the soil. A nutrient imbalance can cause deficiencies even when the nutrients are present. Correcting the internal chemistry of the soil was as important as adding any external input.

One of the most important insights that I have gained is the role of microbes in nutrient uptake. A major portion of what plants absorb does not enter directly through roots. Instead it is mediated by an extraordinary community of microbes. They convert minerals into plant available forms. They transport nutrients along fungal networks. They protect roots by competing with harmful organisms. They even help plants communicate stress and send defensive signals. By removing chemicals and reducing soil disturbance, I allowed this underground community to rebuild itself. The microbes did what they have evolved to do for millions of years, and the trees responded with greater health.

The work of building soil never truly ends. Every passing season I continue adding organic matter, encouraging ground cover, reducing compaction and letting natural processes unfold. I watch the soil becoming darker and crumbly. I watch it hold water through dry spells. I watch fungal threads weave through the leaf litter. I see more insects, more earthworms and more signs of life with each year.

Soil building is one topic I can spend hours discussing. If anyone is interested, join me in a discussion over a cup of coffee, while listening to the songs of the blue-whistling thrush and smelling the scent of the moist soil below our feet. I’ll be more than happy.

The orchard today stands on a foundation that is still quietly growing and improving. There is something humbling and beautiful in knowing that the most important work happens below the surface, hidden from the eye. It is said that a handful of healthy soil holds more organisms than there are people on our planet. These tiny creatures create resilience, flavour, vitality and longevity in every tree. Soil building is patient work. It invites us to observe, to understand, to cooperate with nature rather than control it. It is a practice that rewards not only this generation of trees but the ones yet to come.

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