I was the kid who carefully scooped up fallen fledgling birds, moving them to safety before the lawn mower headed their way. That same protective instinct extends to plants.
To me, each and every one is a living entity, more like a pet than a turnip. I can’t resist saving a struggling baby or nurturing something back to health. I run to the sunroom to examine some seedlings I had already checked a couple of hours ago. Have they grown? Do they need water or a spritzing?
I think of this as Plant Parenthood.
Once, I rescued a tiny tulip poplar tree seedling (Liriodendron tulipifera) that had tumbled into the road from where it sprouted in a crack in the curbstone. I transplanted it beside our house in New Jersey, and despite an adolescent injury in a neighborhood touch football game, that little tree not only survived but thrived. Years later, when I visited my childhood home, there it stood—a magnificent giant towering above our ranch house, a living testament to the power of giving plants a second chance.
This need to nurture is exactly why I’m addicted to propagating plants. There’s something magical about watching new life emerge from what seems like nothing—a seed, a leaf, even just a tiny piece of root. It’s pure alchemy, and once you experience that thrill, you’ll be hooked too.
But here’s the beautiful secret: while you’re indulging this irresistible hobby, you’re also saving money. That gorgeous annual at the garden center costs $6.99. I can grow a dozen identical plants for less than that single purchase. Propagation isn’t just my passion—it’s my ticket to filling my garden without emptying my wallet. Even more exciting are the treasures you simply can’t buy anywhere.
Some of the most extraordinary plants in my landscape exist only because I grew them from seeds traded through plant societies, or cuttings shared by generous amateur and professional gardening friends. The rarest specimen in my garden? It could be an old rose, an heirloom I inherited when I bought this place 30 years ago. 
It’s ‘Petite de Hollande’—the most fragrant rose I’ve ever met. According to the literature, it was introduced in 1791. For all the years I’ve lived here, I’ve tried to buy a backup plant for another part of the garden. Some growers list it, but nobody in North America seems to ever have it in stock. I suspect they don’t have an original plant to propagate.
So, I took matters into my own hands. I’ve dug up shoots that appeared around the original plant and moved them to other parts of the garden. That’s division. I’ve also propagated it by “ground layering”—bending a flexible stem down to the ground, giving the underside of the stem a little nick near a leaf node, dusting that with number three rooting hormone (optional) and pinning it in place with a landscape-fabric staple, then covering the part that touches the soil with a little more soil and covered that with a rock. Now I grow this rare rose in a few places for insurance. I will make at least one more plant to give to a friend. That’s how plant lovers preserve garden treasures—by sharing them. When you spread a rare plant around, you can always get it back. Plants are among the few treasures that can be reproduced.
Whether you’re driven by the thrill of creation, the satisfaction of saving money, or the hunt for rare botanicals, plant propagation opens a world where your garden’s only limit is your imagination—not your budget.
Get to Know Your Local ‘Seasons’
We take softwood cuttings in mid-spring beginning around the time that the common lilac flowers fade. Next come the semi-hardwood cuttings, also called semi-ripewood, which are made from deciduous and broadleaf evergreen stems after the supple softwood has hardened. These slips come from further down the plant and are made of this year’s growth that has hardened but not become rigid and wooden.
In early winter, according to the calendar, I set up my “milk jugs” for sowing seeds of hardy perennials outdoors. Months later, seeds are sown indoors under lights for frost-tender annuals and vegetables. If you are using store-bought seeds, check the information on the packet. It will likely say X number of weeks before the last frost date. That is something you should know and is easily found for your location online. Then again, my last frost date has gone from May 30 to May 15th due to global warming.
I’ve written “mid-spring,” but not an actual date. The specific date will be different depending on your location and climate. When you read “late winter” or “early spring” in our handouts, think about the actual conditions at your home, not dates on the calendar. When do the common lilac flowers bloom where you live, if you can grow them?Can you remember when the saucer magnolias bloomed in your neighborhood? Check the photo on your phone. If you live in Northern California, you may discover that their flowers began to open in early March—in other words, what you will find in the handout beginning with “Late Winter.” But the blossoms where I live peak around the third week of April.
It’s best to judge the precise time to take a cutting by its condition. With softwood, for example, the new growth will have stopped elongating. The leaves are not floppy, but still soft and often paler in color than stems closer to the center of the plant. Just as the name says, the growth is soft. If you bend the stem does it make a circle ? Too young. If you bend it does it crease? Too old. The proper age should snap clean. That will be the section you ultimately trim at a 45° angle (too expose more stem to hormone or moisture) just below a leaf node.
Set the cutting with the node or two below the surfasce. Softowod cuttings have to be babysat to make sure they do not wilt.
This understanding of your local growing patterns will become your most reliable guide to successful plant propagation throughout the year—your own what to do when—and is the key to unlocking the seasonal rhythms that make gardening truly magical.
These are some of the things we teach in our online courses. Check out awaytogarden.com.
