Why Horticulture is the Most Delightfully Absurd Professions You’ll Ever Love
Let’s start with a truth universally acknowledged: horticulture isn’t just a hobby—it’s a way of life. A peculiar, dirt-filled, squirrel-dodging, Latin-speaking way of life. One minute you’re serenely deadheading roses, the next you’re bellowing at a rabbit that’s turned your lettuce into a buffet. It’s part meditation, part battle royale, with just enough whimsy to keep you hooked.
The Latin Name Circus
First, you’ll notice that gardeners have a thing for Latin. Why say “foxglove” when you can say Digitalis purpurea and sound like you’re casting a spell? Soon you’ll find yourself casually slipping phrases like “Oh yes, my Salvia officinalis is thriving!” into conversations, only to be met with blank stares. Bonus points if you can pronounce Achillea millefolium without tripping over your own tongue.
It’s a slippery slope—from knowing a few plant names to becoming that person who corrects everyone at the garden center. Congratulations, you’re now fluent in botanical Latin, which is just useful enough to confuse friends and frustrate dinner party guests.
The Eternal Quest of “What’s That?”
Horticulturists are cursed with a peculiar affliction: the inability to walk past an unidentified plant. You’ll find yourself pausing mid-stride, head tilted like a puzzled bird, muttering, “Is that a Cornus mas or a Cornus alba?” Whether you’re at a backyard BBQ or in a hospital parking lot, the urge to know is irresistible.
Naturally, once you’ve identified it, you’ll spend the next half-hour wondering why it’s thriving here when it utterly failed in your garden. Cue a mild existential crisis or is that just me?
The Weeds Always Win
Weeds are horticulture’s arch-nemesis, turning even the most zen gardener into a moaning mess. Dandelions lead the charge, but let’s not forget bindweed, horsetail, and that smug patch of clover that refuses to take a hint.
Just when you think you’ve eradicated them, they pop back up with a little leaf, saying, “Miss me?” And the worst part? Some of them have the audacity to look attractive. You pull one up, pause, and think, “Well, that’s actually quite a charming flower.” It’s a trick. Don’t fall for it.
Plant Drama
If you think plants are passive, think again. Some are downright divas. Hydrangeas demand the perfect soil pH for the right color blooms, while wisteria will literally climb over your house and into your bedroom window in the night without asking permission. Don’t even get us started on roses and their thorns. They’re beautiful, but they’ll fight you if you so much as look at them wrong.
And then there are the relationships between plants. Companion planting? More like plant matchmaking. Basil loves tomatoes, but fennel hates almost everyone. It’s basically high school but with chlorophyll.
The Wildlife Soap Opera
As if plants weren’t enough drama, horticulture brings you into the world of garden wildlife. Birds, bees, squirrels, rabbits and raccoons all play a part. Sometimes they’re helpful pollinators; other times, they’re just jerks eating your strawberries.
And slugs—oh, slugs—those slimy anarchists will munch through your hostas while you debate whether to remove them or let nature take its course. And just so you know, they won’t thank you for your mercy.
Is The Madness is Worth It
Despite the chaos, horticulture is oddly beautiful. There’s something magical about coaxing life from the soil, watching a seed transform into a flower, or simply sitting in the garden, admiring your hard work (and ignoring the weeds, just for a moment).
Sure, it’s absurd. It involves Latin riddles, plant personalities, and frequent encounters with wildlife drama. But in return, it offers connection, creativity, and endless moments of wonder. And if nothing else, it gives you a perfectly good excuse to buy yet another plant.
So, why do we do it? Because for all its quirks, gardening reminds us of life’s little joys: growth, patience, and the occasional victory over an unruly patch of weeds. And when spring arrives, and your garden bursts into life, you’ll know it was all worth it. And if it wasn’t—well, there’s always tea. Or wine. Or both.