Let’s talk about invasion. Maybe not the Star Wars (or Occupy Cape Town mansions) type, though.

I mean lantana, for example, the invasive weed that’s ruining every piece of tilled land where something isn’t planted right away. The butterflies love its pink, orange, and yellow buds, and the birds drop the seeds everywhere (which is how it spreads like wildfire).

As a budding gardener who’s just getting into the nitty-gritties, this weed is only one contender for my wrath in Oribi Gorge. Blackjacks and sweethearts (those semi-circle burrs) come in a hot second. The bunnies are trying to help me clear those, but it’s an uphill battle most summers.

Between the monkeys, chickens, rabbits, and Southern Boubous, my seedlings and succulents often lose their will to live or multiply. The birds strip my poor little palm trees, and the moles keep pushing up my groundcovers and trees before they can get going. It’s wild this invasion.

What to do when hours and hours of back-breaking work and careful cultivation has come to naught? It’s a relevant question in a global pandemic, not just for those who took up gardening during South Africa’s perpetual lockdowns. As a sleep-deprived working mom of two, my personal choice is often a mini-breakdown with tears.

The exhausted cry of the mom accompanies out-loud roaring at indignant Vervet monkeys as these relentless opportunists scamper back over the fence after decimating my vegetable garden or blooms. My toddler now imitates this pathetic roaring at will. It’s quite awkward when it is directed at passing tractors or an unsuspecting visitor at our coffee table.

All that sweat, and real blood from stupid lantana thorns, and what is left in the soil? A lonely stalk that looks nothing like a cabbage, butternut, marigold, or echeveria. It’s infuriating. It’s also illuminating.

A certain beloved Gogo down the road has taught me an invaluable lesson about the things under my care: everything needs pruning. When you care for the land, it responds in kind. You need to chop, hack, and discard the dead and dying plants.

Cut the beautiful hedge down to knee-height, and see what happens in the growing season next year. Don’t be stingy about the damage, either. The more you prune, the more beautiful the development. The more you cut down the wayward tendrils, the stronger the bushy blooms are in the sunshine.

Jesus pruned the vine, too. Now, I understand why.

When last did you prune your own expectations, commitments, and bad habits? Lockdown has given many of us these mini-breakdown moments and we’re not yet out of the woods. Go on, test your roots and clear away the excess that has invaded time, money, relationships, and life choices. You may just find life more beautiful.

Also, you may need to get a dog to keep the monkey invasion at bay.