From my perspective as a Pistacia weinmannifolia, the process begins long before the first cut of the spade. My survival depends on a meticulous preparatory phase. Ideally, this process should be initiated months in advance. A root pruning procedure is crucial. By severing select roots in a circular pattern at the intended future root ball's diameter, you encourage me to produce a dense network of new, fine feeder roots within that confined space. This allows me to efficiently absorb water and nutrients after the move, reducing the immense shock of being severed from my established root system. Concurrently, ensuring I am in peak health—well-hydrated and free from pests or disease—is paramount. A stressed tree is far less likely to survive the ordeal.
The day of the move is the most traumatic. The goal is to minimize damage to my root system. The root ball must be as large as practically possible to retain a maximum amount of my roots and the native soil that contains the symbiotic fungi essential for my health. Sharp, clean tools are a must to create clean cuts that can heal, rather than ragged tears that invite rot and disease. The digging must be careful to avoid unnecessarily breaking apart the root ball. Throughout this process, maintaining constant moisture is critical; my exposed roots are incredibly vulnerable to desiccation from sun and wind, which can be fatal in minutes.
Once freed from the earth, I enter a state of extreme vulnerability. My root ball must be wrapped immediately in a breathable material like burlap and securely tied to prevent it from disintegrating. This "balled and burlapped" state is my lifeline. I must be handled with the utmost care during transportation; any jostling or impact that cracks the soil ball will sever my remaining roots and drastically reduce my chances of survival. The journey to my new home should be swift, and I must be protected from direct sunlight and drying winds during transit. The quicker I am returned to the earth, the better.
The planting hole in my new location is my future. It should be prepared in advance, wide—at least twice the diameter of my root ball—but no deeper than the height of the root ball. This prevents settling, which can sink my trunk flare below the soil line, a condition that leads to rot and eventual death. The soil at the bottom of the hole should be firm to provide stable support. I must be placed so that my root flare is level with or slightly above the surrounding grade. Backfilling should be done with the native soil, gently tamped to remove large air pockets while avoiding compaction that would hinder root growth and water penetration.
My survival now hinges entirely on consistent and informed aftercare. I require deep, thorough watering immediately after planting to settle the soil around my roots and eliminate remaining air pockets. A layer of organic mulch applied over the root zone (but kept away from my trunk) is vital to conserve soil moisture, regulate soil temperature, and suppress weed competition. However, the most critical factor is a strict watering regimen. The soil must be kept consistently moist but never waterlogged for at least the first full year, and likely through the second summer as I re-establish my root system. I will be in a fragile state, and any drought stress can be fatal. Staking may be necessary for support in windy sites, but it should be loose to allow me to develop natural strength and be removed after one year.
