Opinion | Why do men kill women’s plants?

I wrote about it at the time, utterly enraged at the landscapers and my father, who had allowed them to mutilate the tree — so angry that I took a pair of scissors and threatened to execute his favorite pothos right in front of him, to give him a taste of how I felt. After that column was published, I was flooded with tweets and stories from women whose spouses, boyfriends, fathers and male neighbors had destroyed their favorite shrubs, flowers, herbs — even plants that had been handed down to them from long-gone relatives.

I was reminded of the fig tree fiasco a few days ago, when my sister informed me that the same landscapers had come back and asked whether there was any pruning to do. My sister told me she pointed to the tall, spindly fig shrub growing from the tree’s dead trunk stumps. Apparently, the men looked embarrassed, said sorry and drove away.

They’re lucky I wasn’t there. I would have threatened to prise the tires off their trucks if they ever came back again.

But that inspired me to put the call back out on Twitter (now known as X) for women to share their stories.

The responses I got were, well, horrifying. If you’re a plant lover, read at your own risk. Tree triggers ahead.

There are a lot more stories in the original thread — and in them, an unhealthy mix of incompetence and outright malice, bordering on abuse.

This story from Reddit is particularly devastating.

I don’t know whether the destruction of plants and gardens is commonly considered a sign of toxic or even abusive characteristics in a relationship, but maybe it should be. Plenty of women pointed out that the men who had destroyed their plants were now their exes.

I’m not saying all women are Earth goddesses, blessed with innate horticultural talents. And, of course, not all men are out there murdering every tree and shrub they can get their hands on. I do know men who have gorgeous gardens and are quite good with indoor plants.

From what I could find, there haven’t been many studies on the gendered aspects of American lawn and garden care, or “yard work,” and why men sometimes kill plants they shouldn’t. But for me growing up, lawn care was male work. And, no surprise, manicured lawn grass remains a symbol of male, material success.

As Krystal D’Costa wrote in Scientific American in 2017: “The state of a homeowner’s lawn is important in relation to their status within the community and to the status of the community at large. Lawns connect neighbors and neighborhoods; they’re viewed as an indicator of socio-economic character, which translates into property- and resale values. Lawns are indicative of success; they are a physical manifestation of the American Dream of homeownership.”

The common thread in the responses I heard from women had nothing to do with grass, but with flowers, herbs, trees and vines being ruined by men who either refused to listen to women’s instructions or had tipped over into rage. (I’ve yet to hear of a woman poisoning a man’s lawn out of negligence or spite, but if it’s happened, I’m all ears.)

So, what is up with these herbicidal men?

Is it the sense of power they get from wielding large, sharp tools? Or, given that women’s labor, especially in the home, is valued less than men’s, is it that our garden work with flowers, vines and heirlooms passed down is also less valued? Or, can it be that these men are jealous of the time, energy and, dare I say, love that women give to the gardens we care for?

We know that spending time in nature and caring for plants and flowers are sources of stress relief, well-being and joy. The stories that paint men as blundering idiots in women’s gardens obscure the very real harm these men have caused — and the very real pain many women described feeling when they discovered their plants dead.

Perhaps this gets to a larger point about society, gender and nature that has been a running theme throughout history: the male fear and contempt for nature and women that leads some men to see both as things to be culled, controlled, colonized and wrestled into submission.

Anyway. As for my parents’ fig tree? She has seen better days. But — like so many of the American women I know who’ve survived neglect, callousness and, well, men — she’s still kicking.

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