The Brutality of Gardening

Every time I cut flowers, I think of Marie Antoinette.

That’s what I’m doing, after all. I am literally beheading life. And somehow, we’re all perfectly comfortable with that. I realize this drifts into vaguely vegan granola territory, but stay with me.

In the garden, I am my most brutal self. I am Vlad the Impaler.

I cut off heads.
I relocate individuals without consent.
I commit mass murder (weeds).
I lop off limbs.
I enact The Hunger Games on seedlings.
I draw and quarter.

All of this is standard, acceptable gardener behavior. But anthropomorphized? These are atrocities.

Thankfully, plant biology works very differently from human biology. If I cut a flower head off a plant, another flower or two pops up in its place. The same cannot be said of Marie Antoinette (and thank goodness for that; regrowing heads would be deeply unsettling).

In fact, regular deadheading encourages many flowering plants to produce more blooms. A plant’s biological directive is to go to seed and reproduce. If I keep removing spent flowers, the plant responds by flowering again, trying once more to fulfill its purpose. The nature of a human is that it needs a head to live. The nature of many flowering plants is to keep trying.

I’m sure Vlad the Impaler justified his brutality too, but I suspect he was not entirely well. I’m not claiming complete mental stability myself, but I do think gardening brutality is slightly more justified, and far more humane.

Garden “mass murder” = weeding.
Removing invasive or unwanted plants gives others more light, space, water, and nutrients. Thoughtful weeding is foundational to a healthy garden ecosystem.

The Hunger Games = thinning seedlings.
This one still pains me. But thinning overcrowded seedlings gives the strongest plants room to develop deep roots and sturdy stems. The best prevention, of course, is not oversowing in the first place (this may or may not double as an ad for birth control).

Lopping off limbs = pruning.
Strategic pruning strengthens shrubs and trees. It redirects energy toward healthy growth and improves structure, airflow, and flowering.

Relocating without consent = transplanting.
Moving a plant to its preferred growing conditions gives it a stronger chance to thrive.

Drawn and quartered = dividing perennials.
Digging up and splitting root systems refreshes aging plants and multiplies them. One becomes many.

On the surface, what looks like destruction is actually a form of stewardship.

Still, I sometimes wish I could chat with the plants about this.

Are they okay enduring a little shock in service of greater growth? Would they understand that the temporary trauma of pruning or dividing leads to more flowers, stronger stems, deeper roots?

I mean, I have to go to work every day. That’s not painless. But things would be worse if I didn’t.

Maybe plants would say something similar.
Maybe they would remind us that growth often requires cutting back.

What do you think a plant would say?