Pruning Fruit Trees and Biodynamics

Originally published 2026-03-26. By Stewart Kahn Lundy, JPI Biodynamics.

biodynamics and growing fruit

When we initially planted trees at our farm, some 15 years ago, we made a lot of mistakes. The first goof-up was imagining that trees can simply be plopped anywhere. This error stemmed from an overly idyllic (abstract) view of nature and a lack of experience. While it’s pleasing to repeat niceties about working “with” nature and not “against” nature, if you want results, it's still fundamentally work. Humans being uninvolved with nature goes against everything it is to be both animal and human. While some of our interventions may seem artificial — including the biodynamic preparations — this does not mean they are wrong. To quote Goethe, “even what is unnatural is natural.”

The land we steward to this day had inherited many problems: compaction from conventional “no-till” (which usually means more herbicides), acidic soil, low organic matter, and more. Out in the field, even weeds wouldn’t stay green through the summer.

Of the first rounds of trees we planted, only a few made it. This was for several reasons, but not least because of the hardpan beneath the topsoil. For those unfamiliar with hardpan, it's a layer of the soil under the surface so hard that water can't even move through it. Imagine asphalt under your topsoil.

While we had heeded permaculturist Bill Mollison’s hyperbolic advice to plant a $1 tree in a $1,000,000 hole, this often wasn’t enough — or we didn’t take it literally enough. Even with an ample hole filled with water and allowed to drain, and then plenty of compost, many trees failed to establish themselves. And many that did survive did not grow at the proper rate. Turns out, sometimes compost isn't enough. Not just that, but a $1 tree isn’t always the best tree. We’ve learned to favor stock that has experienced considerably more care when it comes to fruit trees — though some of our very best trees were Arbor Day Society purchases.

Compaction: Before You Can Have a No-Till System, You Must Till

To plant a tree, you must first dig, even if your eventual goal is not to dig at all. But digging isn't enough if you don't break through compacted layers deeper below. For planting trees, a 12in auger digging a 4ft deep hole gets through any compacted layers. I don't plan on using this auger for anything other than fence posts and trees, but the first step to creating a sustainable system is to interfere in a way you will not later. Consider a sick patient: often, extreme measures are needed to save a life that would be inappropriate in milder cases. Subtle remedies are one thing, if you have time and patience, but if a patient is bleeding out, more drastic measures are needed. There is no homeopathy in the Emergency Room. So we start with coarse intervention to make the entire space more receptive to subtle forces.

At our best, human beings humanize the environment and even have the capacity to make ecosystems more biodiverse for their own sake than they might be without human participation. Lest we forget, the vast forests of the Americas were human ecosystems cultivated by indigenous peoples for centuries. That human beings with the wrong attitude can destroy ecosystems does not negate this; it simply shows how deeply our perspectives must change.

This gets to a paradox of “no-till.” As Jeff Poppen (the “barefoot farmer”) observes, the first step in a no-till system is… tillage. This may sound contradictory, but I’ve experienced some of this myself firsthand. For example, ever heard of “tillage radish”? That name is a bit of a misnomer, I discovered. In fact, I got some nice, big, fat radishes that I thought were helping me overcome compaction. When I harvested them, they had gone down about 4” into the soil and made a sudden 90-degree turn: they were L-shaped because of how hard the ground was below the topsoil! I learned that cover crops and “tillage” radishes can really only do their work if the soil is first loose enough. If you’re inheriting serious compaction, there’s no quick-fix option. Yes, once you have a dynamic biological system established, there is a constant flux of organic matter and roots growing and dying that can help keep things from becoming compacted, but it doesn’t start this way.

The biodynamic gardener Alan Chadwick was once asked in an interview what the most serious problem in the world was. In typical form, Chadwick didn’t answer with climate change or pollution or nutrition — none of that. Chadwick cryptically gave one word: compaction. What does this mean? Compaction is entropy, the natural tendency of dead earth to settle into itself, especially with livestock and tractors.

Never let anyone tell you that livestock doesn’t compact the soil. This is simply not true. Now, if you have enough land or a generous enough rotational system, they may not compact the soil more than the plants can regenerate, but that does not mean that livestock don’t compact soil. One can imagine this may well relate to Alan Savory’s claim that no rotational grazing system in history has ever worked out — without exception, they culminated in erosion and desertification. While this is a disheartening notion, it doesn't mean to can't be done correctly. The problem is that we human beings don't know when to reduce a successful herd to prevent increasing compaction and overgrazing.

If you were to use a tool to measure soil compaction — a penetrometer — a reading over 200 psi means that water cannot penetrate the soil. This is seriously problematic for plant growth because roots chase water. If water can’t go there, roots sure can’t. I learned that by mechanically loosening the soil and then planting cover crops, they can get down below the hardpan. By having roots go through those mechanically-created cracks in the soil, tillage radishes can do their good work: once in the cracks, plants have an incredible ability to expand, further cracking open compacted soil. But in serious cases of neglect, soils often must be cracked first.

Benefits of Subsoiling + Biodynamics

In a quote I will continue to share ad nauseam — or at least until someone else outperforms this example — Alex Podolinsky describes how to regenerate soil:

“In the early days we ran trials. Depleted soil was deep ripped. We sowed the right species and applied 500 and had the well known results. In six years we raised the organic matter levels from 0.9% in the top 4” to approximately 12% and, varyingly, to 2.4% at 40” depth. Ripping exactly the same way etc, but without 500, the soil biology developed to 20 cm depth, no further. In modern farming the right soil treatment and the Bio-Dynamic preparations must be applied together.”1

If you are a gardener, you may use a broadfork (Meadow Creature’s industrial-strength broadfork has lasted us more than a decade now, in spite of our constant use and exposure to the elements). With a larger broadfork, you can get some 16” into the soil, which is enough to crack the earth without inverting layers. On our farm, we use a Maschio power harrow, a form of “vertical tillage,” which is to say you can loosen the soil without inverting layers. The power harrow is the number one implement we use on our farm: to break up sod, incorporate compost, mix in cover crop seeds, and prepare our garden beds—pretty much everything in the garden.

If you have the time to “double dig,” you can attain much the same results, often exceeding them. Alan Chadwick's approach, as systematized by his student John Jeavons in the Grow BioIntensive Method, is incredible and is used by people around the world. With this method — even without using biodynamic preparations — you can supply a grown human being with a complete year-round diet — including grains — from no more than 2000 square feet. The Chadwick-Jeavons method of “double digging” is somewhat labor-intensive, but it guarantees deep garden beds full of organic matter and air. When I visited John Jeavons a few years ago, he reminded us that, “The most efficient machine in the world is the human being!” Think about that: you are more efficient than any tractor when you calculate how much energy it takes for the human organism to do something versus a tractor. Every other machine is massively inefficient compared to the marvel of the human being. So when you feel tired or like it would be quicker to use a chainsaw, remember this and try a simple handsaw. That, and turn off your phone!

As this article is intended to be about trees, for much more on this kind of soil balancing, check out this article:

Better Rootstock = Better Trees

Now THAT’S rootstock. I prefer stock at least 6”, but really 12” or more is ideal. Why? In my experience, the shorter the rootstock, the more likely it is to send off vigorous rival suckers. It’s almost like you need to let it be enough of a tree so it can “feel” like a tree before the graft point.

One of the very best sources for bareroot stock is Trees of Antiquity. From their site:

“Our trees range in height from 4-8 ft. in our field and trimmed to 4 to 5 ft. when shipped. Our young two year trees are most often feathered (side limbs). The trees diameter (caliper) is often 1/2 to 3/4 inch; As noted by University of California Scientists and other qualified professionals the most successful trees often have caliper from 1/2” to 5/8” and usually establish faster than smaller and larger planting stock.”

Which is to say, this place in particular offers the ideal size for transplanting: smaller than this size or bigger, and success rates plummet.

A downside of all transplanted trees: once you cut the original taproot, it does not regrow. You can still get a well-established tree that can live for centuries if well managed, but it’s not the same in a storm. If you want good taproots, take wild native seeds and start like that. Consider germinating these according to the biodynamic planting calendar, and you might find some new varieties in the process! Transplant these saplings across your property without damaging the taproot and then, years later, graft onto this. If you have the luxury, graft at 4ft instead of 4in (as Luther Burbank did for plums on almond stock).

Making a $1,000,000 Hole

Consider how we plant trees now: we use a 12-in PTO auger, dig a 4-ft hole, and backfill with aged leaves, wood chips, bamboo, and other woody debris. Yes, woodchips. We’re not trying to feed the trees a lot of nitrogen: we want long-term food for the trees. I prefer using aged wood chips that already look dark brown or black, but they will be in the soil for years. The fresher woodchips can go towards the bottom, the blackened woodchips towards the top. Check with Michael Phillips’ work about establishing a “fungal duff” — even Phillips suggests adding woodchips to the hole under trees, so I’m not just making this up!

To a 4ft hole, we mix in biodynamic compost and preparations (specifically horn manure) with all the organic matter and soil, thoroughly mix and pack down, water, and allow to settle. We also layer in a dusting of natural fertilizer based on the late Michael Astera’s Agricola’s Best formula — but if you didn’t have that, at least add mycorrhizal fungi and a dusting of soft rock phosphate. If you don’t have that, at least add some good soil from around the healthiest trees in a nearby forest. Some gypsum & maybe sulfur, depending on your soil pH. I repeat: tamp down the soil with the organic matter and water thoroughly before planting.

With a 4ft column of organic matter mixed with natural trace minerals, compost, and fungus, this is like hugelkultur but without the hilling up: just bury the organic matter where you want a tree. This has several benefits: first, you break the hardpan; second, you supply the tree with years of organic matter; third, mycorrhizal fungi will (eventually) show up, but we don’t have time for that. You guarantee good root growth (4ft deep!) and early establishment of your trees. Not a taproot, but a similar effect.

The idea for this came from watching The Man Who Stopped the Desert, about a man in Burkina Faso who single-handedly reclaimed large areas from the expanding Sahara Desert. His approach is remarkably simple: digging pits and filling them with all sorts of organic matter, which serves as a sponge for water. Then he plants into these with astonishing results. I myself don’t live in a desert, but I took a cue from this man’s work. The wisdom that will save the world will come from the desert and those who know how to make it green. One need only think of SEKEM, which is located in what was once classified as “desert” in Egypt, but SEKEM’s profound work has changed that classification: it is no longer desert.

One of my favorite ways of breaking up hardpan, which I read about in a 1911 Eastern Shore Fruit Growing book, is dynamite. Ah, the good old days when you could pick up TNT at the local hardware store! These days, of course, you’d need to hire a munitions expert, and I can’t imagine that would be feasible for most people, but it’s still an amusing idea. Obviously, we do not recommend this approach, but it is entertaining nonetheless (at least to me). Here’s the picture of TNT for subsoiling:

More Progress in 3 Years Than in 15 Years

Trees we planted 3 years ago, with a 4ft column of organic matter, have outgrown trees I planted 15 years ago. Yes, you read that correctly. Without available phosphorus in the very early years of establishment, a tree will just languish without growing significantly, and anyone who is establishing does not have that kind of time to waste. Fortunately, if you’re like me, you can learn from that mistake and never plant again without rock phosphate and mycorrhizal fungi. The biodynamic approach might favor using Valerian (507) during transplanting to enhance the “phosphorus process,” but this doesn’t contradict these other measures either.

I learned that if the field will not stay green on its own, you will probably lose your trees. Start by deep ripping and adjusting pH with lime or sulfur. Establish good grasses and forbs. Then try shrubs — but, frankly, only if the grass stays green and the shrubs are thriving, then consider your trees. In a particularly dry area, you might consider planting shrubs strategically to provide shade for the planned location of future tree roots.

As a rule, avoid dwarfing stock. These produce earlier and die earlier. This booklet by Alexis Ziegler is the best free guide for getting maximum yields for minimal effort with fruit trees. Primarily, this strategy means focusing on things with virtually no pests or diseases: persimmons, figs, crabapples, pomegranates… and ignoring peaches. The good ol’ days of getting good peach harvests in the deep south with liberal applications of lead arsenate (yes, literally lead + arsenic) are gone. Though if you have soft fruits and biting bug pests, studies have shown that shrimp shells fed to the roots of citrus trees in Florida (bug heaven) reduce losses in lemon crops by some 80%. The chitin ferments into chitinase, which is the kind of stuff insect exoskeletons are made of. When a bug bites into a chitinase-infused fruit, the bug avoids the fruit because this enzyme has the ability to dissolve its armor.

While it’s all well and good to protect from pests, we must not lose sight of what we care about — or we become like that which we oppose. What we need to return to is the love of trees, not as something useful but as ends in themselves: trees are worthwhile simply as trees.

One of the best single books on managing trees is Alex Shigo’s 100 Tree Myths: the way to arrive at beautiful harmony is to avoid whatever does not belong.

A Spiritual Meditation on Pruning Trees

Pruning trees is a reminder to me that only a human being can intentionally damage something in a healing way.

Just as judicious plowing can increase fertility, so pruning can improve yields and longevity in trees. Consider how long bonsai live under intimate human care and how long coppiced trees live — seemingly limitless lives far longer than in wild nature. Humanity at its best makes the earth more fertile, not less so.

Left to themselves, a damaged tree will suffer, and the dead wood will be a source of disease and pests. A physician can break a leg in order to heal it, just as an orchardist cuts a tree in a therapeutic way, intending only good for the patient. The cut should not be too close (or it creates a larger wound than necessary), nor too far away (or it doesn’t remove enough of what will become deadwood).

This is the power in the human being: the ability to intervene therapeutically. No other animal has this capacity. Of course, this power can be misused to cause intentional harm over time, maliciously, because that is the nature of power.

When we correct someone, we should do so with the same benign attitude as removing a damaged or otherwise problematic branch on a tree: we remove only what is necessary, don’t cut too deeply, and minimize residual damage. When the Buddha said the best gift someone can give us is correction, he meant something like this.

There are cuts that are somewhat careless, some tidy and clean, as well as damage from storms and livestock, but all unaddressed damage leads to long-term harm to the tree itself — stubs or shards that penetrate like wooden stakes to the heart of a tree. It doesn’t matter if it’s damage from a storm or a sloppy cut; the effect is the same: the tree is weakened, and its life is shortened. Intent means nothing to the tree. But even bad cuts are better than complete neglect. There is nothing worse than neglect — even bad attention is better. What this week has told me is that I personally have not cared enough for my trees, and they are my responsibility because they are here. Because they were mine and I did not act rightly, it means I did not love them. Love without action is a lie.

Like children in one’s life, it doesn’t matter whether they are your offspring or another’s, whether I planted them myself or they grew wild; none deserve to suffer. Paradoxically, if I care for trees by loving them — without distraction and without ulterior motives — they become better resources as well. If I only think of them as resources or a chore, they become poor resources. If I do not cut off what is harmful to them, I hurt them with my sins of omission. It is the orchardist's — and parents’ — task to cut off dead wood, not to watch the mess develop without intervening.

After pruning wild trees properly, the feeling of the space is like a gasp — an inhalation of welcome surprise from an orphan: “Me?!” There is no such thing as blameless neglect because there is no such thing as neutral consciousness: we are either robbing the world or loving it and nothing in between.

And to love it means to forget myself and one’s own priorities, in devoted service of another. We should remember there is no such thing as ordinary bread. All bread is supersubstantial. Every bite of bread is miraculous.