Rage Gardening™

I have been neglecting my garden. That is not a euphemism for something else; my lady garden is just fine, thankyouverymuch. No, I’ve been failing the plants in my front yard and courtyard (my fancy word for our teeny-tiny back yard).

Part of it is the California drought. Part of it is that I just don’t have the energy. Part of it is SQUIRREL!!!! .

But I have rediscovered my joy for the dirt, the outdoors, and caring for all forms of life. (Except the nasty Pooping Tree.) And I found it through a technique I call Rage Gardening™.

It all started with a dried-up bush. (Again, not a euphemism for anything else.) The fruit no longer grew. (These were LEMONS. Get your mind out of the gutter, JOEL.) The poor sap was beyond saving so I decided to remove it. But this was on a whim, and I didn’t have any tools on me. So I yanked the plant out with MY BARE HANDS. I grunted and heaved and hoed until I achieved sweet release. The dead bush was my trophy, and dirt rained down on me like blood in a Klingon death ritual.

The high was immediate and intense. I needed another hit. I frantically looked around my garden to identify another sacrificial plant.

I found a mostly dead Chinese Lantern plant. I probably could have brought it back to life, but it was weird and gangly, like a ginormous, floppy chicken foot. So I decided to put it out of its misery. First, I broke off the branches, snapping them like the bones of my enemies. Then I stomped and kicked at the trunk while screaming, “I am crushing your head!” Finally, I ripped out the remaining roots from the ground. Again, all with my bare hands. The dirt on my face and arms and hands was my war paint.

Still, I was not satisfied. These plants were too easy to defeat. I needed a bigger challenge.

I stalked my garden to identify my next target and found a bamboo plant. It wasn’t dead or even dying. But some idiot had put it right next to another bamboo plant. So it looked ridiculous. And I hate bamboo. It’s the herpes of the gardening world.

I decided it needed to go. But bamboo plants are tough little fuckers. I needed more than my personal fury to take it down. Armed with my bypass lopper (power tools are not allowed in Rage Gardening™—unless you’re taking down a tree), I hacked the shit out of that defenseless plant. Then I pulled out my 6-foot steel digging bar and went to town on the roots.

Right about here is where I should mention that Rage Gardening™ can be hazardous to your irrigation system.

I’m sure I looked like a crazy person. Maybe I even was a crazy person. But damn it felt good.

At this point, my freighbor (a friend who is also a neighbor) Marie drove by, stopped, backed up, stared at me for a moment before asking, “Uh, whatcha doing?”

I wiped the sweat off of my brow. “Rage Gardening™. It’s productive and therapeutic.”

She squinted her eyes. “Huh.”

“Come see what I did in the backyard!” My entire body shook with glee. Like a proud serial killer, I showed her my handiwork and my next victim: the bougainvillea plant.

That beautiful and lush plant is (was) deceptive in nature. I call her Bitchavillea. She welcomes rats and regularly attempts to kill us by crawling up the balcony to smother us while we are sleeping. Yellow jackets also seem to love it. And she has the nastiest thorns. Naturally she had to die.

I brought out some wine and some additional hand tools, and Marie and I hacked that asshole to pieces.

With each cut, I screamed “See you in hell, motherfucker!” This is way better than cursing your enemies in yoga—because no one looks at you funny. Well, except Marie. So I poured her some more wine and urged her to give it a full go. Eventually she was screaming just as loudly as I was. Mr. Foxy came outside, looked us up and down, and then ran back into the house. I might have even heard the lock latch.

Regardless, I think I converted Marie to the Rage Gardening™ technique.

Truly it was a drunken therapeutic afternoon for us both.

For you tree-huggers out there (ahem, Mr. Foxy), don’t be concerned that these plants died in vain. I have grand plans for even more wonderful plants to replace them. But the beauty can only come after the rage is done. So it has been said. And so it will be.

Maybe I should do an infomercial next. What do you think?

Cover Photo Credit: bowie15 / 123RF Stock Photo