The Quiet Art of Rooting Cuttings

There's something poetic about watching life begin again from something once severed. A tender branch, clipped from its parent, left to face the cold of winter—yet quietly, invisibly, it prepares to bloom anew. That is the hidden beauty behind rooting cuttings. Not just gardening, but a ritual of time, patience, and healing.

In the heart of every gardener—whether seasoned or just beginning—there lives a quiet desire to preserve, to nurture, to replicate the beauty we see around us. And one of the most intimate ways we do this is by learning to root a cutting. To coax new life from something still and still hoping. And like most delicate things, it all comes down to two secrets: timing and technique.

Reading the rhythm of dormancy

There is a sacred stillness that settles over a garden when winter comes. Leaves fall. Sap slows. The world pauses. It is in this hush that the magic begins. Hardwood cuttings—especially from deciduous plants—should be taken only after the first true frost has kissed the garden goodnight. In the northern parts of the world, like my own chilly northeast, that usually means waiting until mid-November.

Unlike the softwood cuttings that crave youth and pliability, hardwood cuttings embrace maturity. They prefer the firm, leafless canes of the year's growth. Forsythia, grapevines, lilac—branches that grew tall in summer now become the cradle for new life. And the remarkable thing? A single branch, once wild and waving in the wind, can give birth to eight or more cuttings, each one holding the potential for its own story.

Preparing the cutting: a ritual of precision

There is a gentleness required here, a respect for the future hidden inside every bud node. We begin by cutting 6 to 8 inch sections from dormant branches, taking care to snip just below a node at the bottom, and about ¾ inch above the top node. This method isn't just tradition—it's survival. That small stub above the node offers protection. That bottom slice below the node invites the miracle of callousing and eventually, rooting.

Some gardeners even gently wound the base, scraping just beneath the surface to wake the plant's instinct to heal and grow. As if we're whispering: "It's time now. You're safe to begin again."

Rooting the old-fashioned way: upside down in the soil

One of the oldest—and oddly poetic—methods of rooting hardwood cuttings is to bury them upside down. Yes, upside down. Gather them into bundles, dip the bottom ends in a rooting hormone, then place them in a 12-inch-deep hole with their butt ends facing upward, about 6 inches beneath the soil. Cover them, mark them with a stake, and walk away. Winter will do the rest.

The warmth of early spring sunlight on the buried tips will quietly urge them to form roots, while being buried upside down discourages premature top growth. When the world thaws, and the risk of frost has passed, you gently unearth them. And in your hands, you may find not just canes, but promises beginning to awaken.

A quiet morning in my garden, where I buried dreams in the soil and waited for the world to warm them.

Planting out: giving your new life a home

Once unearthed, examine the base of each cutting. Even without visible roots, don't be disheartened. That doesn't mean failure. Sometimes, life begins quietly beneath the surface. Create narrow trenches in your garden soil—well-drained and sunlit—and place your cuttings with a few buds above the surface. Press them in gently, water thoroughly to eliminate air pockets, and wait.

Some will flourish. Others will falter. This, too, is part of the journey. Celebrate the ones that survive, and offer gratitude to those that don't. Every gardener learns to hold both growth and loss in the same hand.

An alternative path: planting immediately in winter

There is a second path—less mysterious, more direct. Some gardeners prefer to skip the burial altogether. Instead, they plant the hardwood cuttings directly into the garden soil during the late fall or winter, whenever the ground isn't frozen. It's faster, simpler, and still effective, though slightly less magical. The steps remain the same: hormone, spacing, gentle burial. This method especially works in milder climates or well-draining beds.

Rooting the evergreens: crafting a quiet sanctuary

Evergreens are a different kind of soul. They don't lose their leaves in the winter, and their cuttings ask for a slightly different kind of love. For these, a propagation frame filled with coarse sand works best. A raised wooden box in a partially shaded space becomes their nursery. Clip 4-5 inch tip cuttings, remove the lower foliage, dip in hormone, and place them close but not crowded in the sand.

Water them regularly during the fall. When winter arrives, let the snow cover them—it's not a curse, but a protective blanket. Come spring, they'll begin their quiet stretch toward life. And by the following fall or spring, they'll be strong enough to call your garden home.

Rooting not just plants—but resilience

What I've come to love most about rooting cuttings isn't just the result—it's the process. It's the metaphor. That even in the coldest seasons, life is quietly preparing. That being severed from what once sustained us doesn't mean the end. With care, with time, with stillness, we begin again.

So try. Root a grapevine. Bury a forsythia branch. Give a branch a second chance. And in the silence of the soil, let hope take root again.

Sometimes, all it takes to begin again is a little wound, a little patience… and someone willing to wait for spring.