Attack of the Yucca

So, there I was, digging up the stump of an apple tree and moving shrubs around in the backyard, when a yucca plant attacked me. Yes, attacked me. As I leaned over to take another whack at the stump, one of its spindly branches reached out and poked me in the eye. It came out of nowhere, reminding me of the trolley in Rome that came out of nowhere and smashed into my rented car. That was years ago on a trip with my daughter to visit relatives. Trollies run on fixed tracks, of course, which will tell you something about my driving, but that’s another story.

The stump proved to be as tough as the trolley. It took weeks of working it with a square mouthed shovel, which I’m pretty sure is not what you want for gardening, until I broke down and bought a heavy-duty mattock, which is similar to a pickaxe. I live close to Ace Hardware, so I walked there and got a few doubletakes walking back. But removing the stump wasn’t my only goal. I also wanted to create space for my lavender plant to grow. So, I removed the stump, dug up and replanted the bird of paradise, and removed two of the four yucca plants originally in the garden.

I don’t particularly like yucca plants. They conjure up images in my mind of stucco ceilings, peeling carports, and shag carpets, but I am willing to concede that might be me. I may even have a problem, but I accept that just as I accept my bias without the need for explanation or repentance. Life is too short to worry about a plant called “yucca,” although someone seriously asked me once what “Yonkers” were. She was from the West Coast, so I let it slide.

Here’s the thing. I think the yucca plants talked to each other and the one that poked me did it out of revenge, even spite. I realize that may sound conspiratorial, a bit tinfoil, or the result of gardening for hours in the heat, but hear me out. A new study shows that plants communicate with each other during times of stress or danger (see earth.com).

For instance, if a gorilla, giraffe, deer, or other herbivore starts munching on the leaves of a plant, that plant will send out signals to the other plants around it to prepare for an attack. “Something wicked this way comes,” it says. They even secrete substances that act as a repellent if not exactly for gorillas, then certainly for insects, caterpillars, and smaller leaf eaters.

I believe that happened to me. I acted in the role of the gorilla so to speak, which certain people may not have a problem imagining. Of the four yucca plants that stood side by side like spindly sentinels, I dug up the first one and accidentally chopped the second one in half. I eventually dug that one up, too. Once you start clearing things out, you know, it’s hard to stop. That left me very close to the third yucca plant as I bent over to swing the mattock at the stump. And then it happened. Voilà, take that, you human, you!

I can’t prove any of this except to note that in the days since the attack, the remaining yucca plants have been kinder to me. They see that they survived the thinning out process and are no longer in danger of being dug up with a square mouthed shovel and thrown into the green recycling bin. I also started watering them regularly along with the lavender and bird of paradise. I am not a threat but an ally, so they have laid down their eye-poking darts.

The yucca plants understand this on some level, even if that gives them a consciousness that we usually reserve for humans, higher primates, and dolphins. I’ll leave the question as to whether they have a soul for another post. What, exactly, is the relationship between consciousness and the soul? There are definite opinions about that.

Right now, though, I’d just like to get the mischievous crows in the redwood tree on board. If I can do that, it’ll be a great summer.

---

Image credits: feature by Bernd 📷 Dittrich; collage includes images by Brett Burton, Pawel Czerwinski, Bernd Dittrich, Tim Foster, Encal Media. Want more? Go to Robert Brancatelli. The Brancatelli Blog is a member of The Free Media Alliance, which promotes “alternatives to software, culture, and hardware monopolies.” Sunday, July 7, 2024 marks the tenth anniversary of The Brancatelli Blog.