I’ve never thought of myself as much of a rebel. You generally won’t
find me smashing car windows or setting garbage cans aflame. (Let’s get
real: You probably won’t find me speeding. Such are the depths of
my rule-following nature.) But I realize now that all along, I’ve just
been waiting for the right weapon with which to battle The Man.
Wildflowers, of course. More precisely: ping-pong ball-size globs of
clay and compost laced with wildflower seeds called seed bombs (or green
grenades — military nomenclature is a must). The other day, I stood in
front of a fenced-off lot on a busy stretch of asphalt, fingering the
tiny seed arsenal I’d packed into a Ziploc bag. I looked back and forth,
took a deep breath, and let one fly over the chain links; the ball came
to rest on a scrubby patch of dirt in the sun. “Take that!” I muttered
under my breath.
Finally, I was beginning to understand the rebel thrill. This must be what Marlon Brando felt like.
Lobbing that seed bomb was my first foray into the worldwide movement of “guerrilla gardening,”
or reclaiming underused land — empty lots, vacant yards, alleys, and
other areas you technically don’t have the right to plant — for lovely
and/or productive gardens. In this case, the enemy takes the form of a
disinterested, wasteful society that misses out on abundant
opportunities to beautify the ugly and cultivate the barren.
Sometimes it’s as simple as taking over an adjacent lot with some extra pepper plants, but often there’s more at stake. Among guerrilla gardeners, you’ll hear plenty of chatter about “land use,” “re-creating space,” and “Who actually owns the earth, man?” Make no mistake: Those petunias are political.
Read more here
Sometimes it’s as simple as taking over an adjacent lot with some extra pepper plants, but often there’s more at stake. Among guerrilla gardeners, you’ll hear plenty of chatter about “land use,” “re-creating space,” and “Who actually owns the earth, man?” Make no mistake: Those petunias are political.
Read more here
