Preparing for Bare-Root Season: What to Plant Now

Dear friend,

I hope you’re faring well in this wintry stretch of January. Here in the Blue Ridge, the wind off the ridges can feel mighty brisk this time of year, and the frost sometimes makes lace patterns on the windows by dawn. But I rather like these cold mornings. They remind me of all the hidden work going on beneath the surface—roots quietly stretching, worms turning over the soil, and the seeds we planted last fall waiting for the right moment to stir.

Now that we’re a touch deeper into January, I wanted to chat with you about the wonders of bare-root plants. If you haven’t dabbled in this particular corner of gardening yet, you’re in for a treat. Bare-root season is when nurseries send plants—often fruit trees, shrubs, roses, and certain perennials—without the usual pot and soil around their roots. Instead, their roots are carefully wrapped, sometimes in damp material, so they don’t dry out. It might look a little strange at first, but this method of buying and planting is fantastic because the plants can often establish themselves more swiftly, you get a wider selection at a more affordable price, and shipping is kinder on the wallet and the environment.

I remember the first time I ordered bare-root strawberry plants. A neighbor told me it was the best way to get them. When that scraggly bundle arrived in the mail, I thought I’d been tricked! They looked more like dried, brown threads with a tiny crown at the top. But he told me to trust the process, so I carefully soaked their roots in a bucket of water, prepared a nice raised bed with compost and mulch, and popped them in with the crowns just at soil level. Sure enough, come spring, little green leaves unfurled like they were waving at the sun, and by summer, I had sweet, juicy strawberries to brag about.

Bare-root season in our region typically starts in late winter. Depending on the nursery, you might receive your plants anywhere from January through March, depending on the weather. It’s best to get those orders in early, though, because popular varieties sell out fast—especially with folks turning more and more to gardening for fresh produce and the simple pleasure it brings. If you’re trying your hand at fruit trees—like apples, peaches, or cherries—bare-root is often the go-to. Same goes for brambles (raspberries and blackberries), grapes, and other small fruiting shrubs.

Before you put those bare-root babies in the ground, you want to make sure your soil isn’t frozen solid or waterlogged. Give your garden bed a gentle squeeze, and if it feels gummy or the water’s pooling, maybe wait a few days. If the ground’s so hard you can’t dig in, obviously that’s a sign to hold your horses, too. In the meantime, store your bare-root plants in a cool, dark place—some folks use their garage or an unheated porch—so they don’t prematurely wake up and start sprouting. A little moisture around the roots is crucial, so if they arrived wrapped in damp peat moss or paper, keep that material gently moist, but not dripping wet.

Now, if you’re pondering what to plant in bare-root form right now, you might start with fruit trees. Apple varieties that are known to do well in these parts—like ‘Arkansas Black’ or ‘Gold Rush’—can handle our cooler winters and somewhat humid summers. For peaches, ‘Reliance’ or ‘Elberta’ have been favorites among mountain growers. Then there are the brambles—oh, how I love blackberries in the summertime. The thornless varieties might be easier on the arms, but I’ve found some of the old-fashioned, thorny types have a flavor unmatched by anything from the supermarket. Regardless, bare-root is the best way to get them started. Plant them in a spot with good air circulation to stave off any fungal issues (our humid summers can be a bit tough on them sometimes), and soon enough you’ll be plucking warm, sun-kissed berries right off the cane.

Roses also often come as bare-root, especially if you’re ordering from a specialty grower. There’s something so satisfying about seeing a gnarled, woody stub transform into a lush rosebush by mid-summer. If you’ve never planted a rose, just remember they do like a little extra TLC, such as well-draining soil, plenty of sun, and an occasional feeding with compost or rotted manure. But if you choose a hardy variety—maybe an old-fashioned rugosa rose—they can do just fine here, even with the deer and the odd cold snap we sometimes get.

And let’s not forget strawberries and asparagus, which are also common bare-root finds. I’d call them “garden investments” because you might not see a huge crop the first year, but once they’re established, they reward you for seasons to come. As I mentioned before, strawberries can look pathetic when they first arrive, but don’t judge a book by its cover. Give them a nice raised bed, some time, and a little love, and they’ll soon fill out with runners and leaves. As for asparagus, it’s one of those crops that teaches patience. You won’t be harvesting big spears right away, but a healthy asparagus patch can produce for 15 years or more. That’s a long friendship.

Now, I’ll share a small confession: the first time I planted bare-root fruit trees, I didn’t heed the spacing guidelines. I was so excited to have my own orchard that I crammed them in closer than recommended, thinking I’d just prune them aggressively. Well, a decade later, it’s something of a tangled orchard out there. I manage, but I’ve learned that those guidelines exist for a reason. Fruit trees need room for their canopies to spread, for air to flow, and for ample sunlight to reach all the branches. So if you’re planting new trees this year, do as I say, not as I did, and make sure to give them plenty of breathing room.

Once you’ve placed your bare-root plants in the ground, don’t forget to water them well, even if it’s still chilly. The roots need that hydration to settle in. Mulching around the base will help keep soil temperature steady and hold in moisture. Just be sure not to pile mulch right up against the trunk or crown, since that can invite rot or pests. I like to leave a small “collar” of space around the main stem—kind of like a donut shape.

Perhaps my favorite part of bare-root planting is the sense of hope it brings. You’re placing something that looks dormant, almost lifeless, into the cold ground, trusting that in a couple of months it’ll awaken with bright green leaves or delicate blossoms. It’s a tangible act of faith in the cycles of nature. As a child, that kind of magic astonished me, and to be honest, it still does. We can read all the science we want about dormancy and root systems, but there’s still a bit of wonder in seeing a dry tangle of roots burst into a living, productive plant.

Some folks ask me if it’s okay to plant ornamental shrubs or trees as bare-root. The answer is a resounding yes—if you can find them. Many native ornamental shrubs, like sweetspire or Virginia sweetspire, can be found in bare-root form, but you might need to look to a native plant nursery or a conservation sale. Winter is also an excellent time to transplant seedlings you find on your own property, so long as the ground’s not frozen. Maybe you have a volunteer redbud or dogwood near the fence line that you want to move to a more prominent spot. Dig it up carefully, keeping as much root intact as possible, and replant it right away. Give it a soak and some mulch, and cross your fingers it takes to its new home.

I like to imagine the garden in a month or two, when the first signs of life appear. Bare-root buds begin to swell, and tiny leaves start to poke out. It’s an affirmation that winter won’t last forever, that spring really is just around the corner. With all the hustle and bustle of daily life, it’s grounding to remember that nature has its own rhythm, one that doesn’t hurry for anyone, but that also never fails to deliver in time.

As I wrap up this letter, I hope you’ll feel encouraged to give bare-root planting a try if you haven’t before. Or if you’re an old hand at it, maybe you’ll discover a new variety you’d like to welcome to your patch of land. Either way, remember the joy that comes from coaxing a seemingly lifeless little bundle of roots into a flourishing, fruitful plant. It reminds me of how we all have dormant dreams tucked away, just waiting for the right conditions to bloom.

Wishing you steady warmth, kind weather, and a hopeful heart as we inch closer to spring. If you find yourself craving a connection to the garden, just step outside and listen to the quiet. Beneath it, life is rustling, preparing, waiting. Enjoy this pause, because we’ll soon be busy enough once the first thaw arrives.

Warmly,
Logan