Preparing Soil for Autumn Plantings
Dear friend,
There’s a particular light at the end of August. I’m sure you’ve noticed it too. It’s softer, lower—almost amber. It stretches longer through the trees in the evening, dappling the mulch with gold. And in the mornings, there’s that coolness that settles in along the low places, a whisper that autumn is just waiting in the wings.
That’s the moment I know it’s time to turn my attention downward. Not toward harvest—though there’s still plenty of that—but toward the earth itself. The soil. That dark, quiet place where everything begins.
Around here in the Blue Ridge, late August isn’t just the tail end of summer. It’s the beginning of the next garden. It’s when I set the stage for fall greens and overwintering root crops, for young trees and shrubs that need a chance to settle in before the ground gets too cold. And whether I’m sowing spinach, tucking in perennials, or carving out a new bed, it all starts with one question: what shape is the soil in?
The Soil as Partner, Not Substrate
Back when I first started gardening, I treated soil like a background actor. The thing you shove a plant into. I figured if I dug a deep hole and tossed in a little compost, I was doing just fine. I focused on the top—the leaves, the flowers, the part everyone sees. And to be fair, some of it grew. But it didn’t thrive.
Over time, through seasons of watching and listening and trying again, I started to understand that soil isn’t just a medium—it’s a living system. A community. A complex web of microbes, fungi, roots, minerals, and decaying matter that holds the story of your garden’s past and the potential for its future.
Once you start thinking of the soil as your garden’s partner—not just the place where the plants sit—you’ll find everything changes. You plant more thoughtfully. You harvest more humbly. And the ground, in return, responds.
Begin With Observation
Late August is a perfect time to start listening to the soil. I begin by clearing out what’s done for the year—spent annuals, tired vegetables, anything that’s clearly run its course. But here’s a little trick I’ve learned: unless the plant was diseased, I leave the roots in the ground. Just cut the top off at the base and let those roots rot in place. As they decompose, they feed the microbes and create tiny tunnels that improve soil texture. It’s nature’s tiller, slow and steady.
Next, I rake back any mulch and get my hands in the dirt. I want to feel it. Does it crumble when I squeeze it? Or does it smear like clay? Does it smell sweet and earthy, or is it sour and lifeless? These little sensory cues tell me so much more than any lab test ever could.
If I see lots of worm holes, threads of white mycorrhizal fungi, or even little bits of last season’s mulch turning into dark humus, I smile. That’s living soil. That’s a system that’s working.
Compost Is the Constant
No matter what I find, I always add compost. I spread a 1–2 inch layer over the surface and gently fork it into the top few inches of soil. I don’t dig too deep—disturbing the lower layers can harm the very biology I’m trying to nurture. Think of it more as a massage than a till.
If I’ve got leaf mold from last fall, I mix that in too. Or aged manure, if it's well-composted and not too fresh. These organic materials feed not just the plants but the underground network of life that supports them.
If a bed’s been compacted—say, from too much foot traffic or heavy summer rain—I might loosen it with a broadfork. But again, I’m not turning or flipping the soil. I’m aerating, not disturbing.
Targeted Amendments
Sometimes I’ll reach for other amendments, but I use them sparingly and based on what the soil tells me:
Pine fines or fine bark mulch for aerating heavy clay
Kelp meal for trace minerals and gentle stimulation
Rock phosphate if I’m planting bulbs or want stronger root growth
Greensand to improve sandy soils and add potassium
I’ve come to trust the soil’s own intelligence. It doesn’t need to be supercharged—it needs to be nourished, consistently and kindly.
Cover Cropping for Rest and Renewal
One of my favorite fall rituals is sowing cover crops in any bed I won’t be planting immediately. Winter rye, crimson clover, hairy vetch—all of them hold the soil in place over the winter, suppress weeds, and feed the microbiome when they’re cut and turned under in early spring.
Cover crops are like putting the garden to bed with a blanket. They keep the soil covered, the roots engaged, and the future rich.
If I’m planning to plant garlic, for example, I’ll sow oats in the rest of that bed. By the time I’m ready to plant in October, the oats are easy to chop and leave in place as mulch.
It’s one of the simplest ways to build fertility naturally—no synthetic fertilizer, no digging, just the slow, rhythmic layering of life upon life.
Preparing for Perennials, Trees, and Shrubs
Autumn is a wonderful time to plant perennials and woody plants—especially here in the mountains where our falls tend to be long and mild.
When I’m prepping for those plantings, I make the hole wider, not deeper, than the root ball. I want those roots to spread easily into loosened, enriched soil. I blend compost into the backfill and water deeply—not just at the base but in a wide circle around the plant to encourage root expansion.
If I know the spot is prone to holding water, I’ll mound the soil slightly to improve drainage. On a slope, I’ll build a little berm on the downhill side to catch runoff.
I mulch well but leave space around the stem or trunk to prevent rot. And then I step back and let the roots take over.
Preparing Soil for Fall Veggies
If you’re putting in a fall vegetable garden—and I hope you are—this is the time to refresh your beds. Pull your finished tomatoes and beans. Top-dress with compost. Gently rake the surface.
For root crops like carrots, beets, and turnips, I sift the soil to remove stones and clods. I want a fine, fluffy texture so the roots can grow straight and strong.
For greens, like kale, spinach, and lettuce, I give them a fertile top layer and mulch lightly with straw to keep the moisture even and the weed pressure low.
Fall veggies are surprisingly forgiving. They’re often sweeter than their spring counterparts, thanks to cool nights. But only if the soil gives them what they need.
The Soul Work of Soil
Preparing soil isn’t glamorous work. You don’t get an instant payoff like with transplanting a flowering perennial. But it is foundational. It’s a kind of promise you make to the land—that you’ll invest in what’s unseen, in what’s coming, in what will feed the garden through winter and bloom next spring.
There’s something deeply spiritual about it, too. Maybe it’s the rhythm of digging and spreading and smoothing. Maybe it’s the quiet satisfaction of crumbling compost in your fingers. Or maybe it’s just the knowledge that you’re creating the conditions for life—not forcing it, not faking it, just making room.
I walk the garden after a day of soil work with a kind of reverence. The surface looks the same, but I know. I know what’s been added. What’s been healed. What’s been encouraged. And I trust that come March or April, when those first shoots push up through the mulch, the soil will remember the care it received.
A Few Final Tips
Don’t rush. Soil work is best done slowly. Turn the radio off. Listen to the birds.
Work with what you have. You don’t need fancy amendments. Start with compost and build from there.
Observe. Every handful of soil is a conversation. What is it telling you?
Keep it covered. Bare soil is vulnerable soil. Always mulch or cover crop.
Know your timing. In the Blue Ridge, late August through October is prime time for prepping, amending, and planting.
The Invisible Garden
Sometimes I think of soil work as gardening’s hidden chapter. It doesn’t show up in Instagram photos. It’s not flashy or fragrant. But it’s the part that matters most. It’s the layer beneath every flower, every harvest, every tree.
So as the light shifts and the shadows lengthen, take a little time to work your soil. You don’t have to do it all in one go. One bed at a time. One barrow of compost. One row of cover crop.
It’s the beginning of the next garden, and it starts beneath your feet.
With gratitude and a good garden fork,
Logan
P.S. Wondering what your soil needs—or where to start prepping for your next planting season? We’re happy to help. Visit Unicorn Farm Nursery & Landscaping to schedule a soil consultation, planting plan, or fall prep session. Let’s build your garden from the ground up—together.