by Blake Davis

Resisting the Cut

I stand here staring at one of my Serviceberry trees that I’ve let grow to looklike a thick, tangled bush. It’s February, the ideal window before spring growth kicks into action. Visibility is great because the branches are bare. My pruners are sharp and sanitized. The trees are still dormant, so cuts will cause less stress. It’s time to direct the tree’s stored energy toward better flowering and fruit.

But these are my favorite trees (I even called my property ‘Juneberry’, the colloquial name of the delicious fruits the Serviceberry produces). I have the privilege of tending this land and planting all of these by hand with a shovel and my back, spending hours measuring and placing them to get the optimal spacing, sun, and privacy for my yard. And trees are great at growing, so cutting them feels counterintuitive, like I’m diminishing their growth.

But unchecked growth spreads a tree’s energy thin, leaving it vulnerable when storms come.

And storms always come.

Cowboy Dan and The Cherry Tree

When I first bought Juneberry (before I’d even planted any Serviceberries to name it after), there was an old cherry tree at the driveway entrance that looked like a perfect example of the haunted mansion trope- gnarled branches sticking in every direction with its pointed tips curling in like decrepit fingers.

As I met my new neighbors, they would talk about how gorgeous the blooms used to be in the spring.

But our first spring, it barely flowered at all.

Between its age, the hollow trunk, and its contorted shape, I assumed it was dying. But as I can’t stand cutting things that could still grow, I called the Tennessee Agricultural Extension office to ask if there was anyone who could check it out.

They said I needed to talk to “Cowboy Dan.”

Cowboy Dan, the Extension Agent and Community Garden coordinator, rolled up in a large truck, cowboy boots on and a twinkle in his eye.

He walked around the yard with me and told me the tree wasn’t dying, it just needed pruning.

Maybe because he sensed I’m a softie when it comes to cutting live plants, or experience from his years of educating children about agriculture with his guitar, he was able to simplify his advice to four accessible criteria for pruning:

• Remove anything dead or dying
• Remove anything hazardous (that might hit you in the head)
• Remove anything blocking sunlight
• Remove anything blocking airflow

When Cowboy Dan mentioned the “hazardous” rule I thought to myself “Why would I cut the tree if I can just duck? I’ll protect my own head. Let the tree grow!”

…That summer while on my lawnmower I introduced my head to one of those branches I had graciously chosen not to cut- with enough force to knock some humility into me.

After shaking off the stars and finding my hat, I went ahead and cut those lower branches.

But the tree did flower again:

Choosing the Cut

When I finally stop hesitating and make the cut, there are two kinds I’m choosing between:

A Heading Cut shortens a branch back to a bud (not the actual trunk). Using clean shears, cut at a 45° angle about ¼ inch above an outward-facing bud. This will signal the tree to push new growth in the chosen direction the bud points.

These are the cuts that shape young fruit trees, strengthen roses and encourage fuller branching in shrubs.

Thinning Cuts remove a branch entirely back to the trunk or main limb, preserving the tree’s natural form while opening space for light and air, without triggering a frantic burst of regrowth.

Cut just outside a branch collar, NOT flush against the trunk.

These are the cuts that open fruit trees for more airflow (reducing disease and fungal growth), remove crossing branches, and eliminate dead or diseased wood.

Angles matter. Too flat and water lingers. Too steep, and the wound has a harder time sealing.

A general rule is not to remove more than 25-30% of live growth in a season. Even in pruning you can over-correct.

(Roses can apparently handle 50-70%, I know people who do more but I’m too chicken to go more than about 50% on my roses)

When to Cut

Now is the time.

Woody plants store carbohydrates (starches and sugars) in their roots, trunk and older branches (this is why we DON’T prune in late summer or fall, because trees need those carbohydrates for winter survival).

That energy is stored, not spent, so when you prune in late winter, it fuels stronger, faster spring growth in the remaining buds.

This is why roses have a bigger bloom after a hard pruning. Apples and peaches have stronger fruiting, and shrubs get vigorous new canes.

Pruning now minimizes disease and rot. Plants compartmentalize damage, so when we make a proper cut, the plant creates chemical and physical barriers, the decay is walled off, and now tissue can form around the cut.

This time of year, pathogens and insects are inactive, and the upcoming rapid spring growth will seal wounds quickly.

Despite my trepidation about hurting it, to the tree or plant, these cuts are a controlled injury. The plant responds by activating dormant buds and reinforcing structural growth.

Proper pruning improves long-term strength and resilience.

Trees that are thinned and structured well bend differently under unexpected weight.

The Serviceberries: Making The Cut

It was easier to prune the cherry tree because I thought it was already dead. When something feels beyond saving, the stakes are low, and I feel free to cut boldly.

Standing here in front of my Serviceberries, pruning something I love is much more difficult. I’m still trying to figure out if that’s because no matter how much I understand the ‘why’, it still FEELS like I’m diminishing something that I want to see thrive and grow naturally.

But then Nashville had the largest ice storm since 1994, and now we have a 7 x 50-foot pile of limbs and trees that the storm pruned for me.

Ice is not cruel, but it doesn’t choose carefully. It exposes structure. It snapped what carried the most weight and toppled the trees that grew too dense to bend under the inch of ice surrounding each branch.

So I stand here in front of my Serviceberry trees and realize: if I don’t choose the cuts, the weather eventually will.

Pruning isn’t diminishment. It’s stewarding the energy to the limbs I want strengthened.

It’s choosing the cuts instead of outsourcing them to storms.

I’ve already seen what happens when I wait.

I’ve trained for this. I’ve taken classes. I’ve researched the science.

What I’ve been lacking isn’t knowledge, it’s trust – trust that faithful pruning creates better, stronger growth.

It’s February. It’s time.

I’m choosing to cut.