I told all of the Garden vegetables that the new 5G tower that I'd so quickly installed would make their work easier, and they blindly accepted it.
Meanwhile, I planted a nice little conspiracy theory into the Garden's subculture-- those weeds, grasses and other common 'folks' of the garden-- and I laid it on thick.
I discreetly leaked the real information about how the new 5G cell tower was a weapons-grade microwave device, spewing poisonous frequencies upon all of the veggies, all over their bed-mates and onto their tender seeds. Soon, every dandelion and every blade of grass was talking about it, but the rows of cultivated plants couldn't believe that I-- the one who had nurtured them their whole lives-- would deliberately try to harm them in such a way.
Weaponizing Conspiracy Theory
The subculture's conspiracy narrative is probably my favorite medium to work with when growing a garden.
Unlike store-bought seeds and sprouts, the weeds and grasses of the Garden don't trust the gardener, and this makes it easy to manipulate their dialogue.
I 'leak' the secret data into their connections of dirt, anonymously annoying their sense of security with ominous tales of doom and gloom. Then I can sit back and let their imaginations do the rest.
Placebo Tower
It's basically the placebo effect that I'm working with here; after the most paranoid weeds clear out of my Garden to escape the microwave tower's reach, the ones that remain around in view of the transmitter tend to do poorly, even as their roots drink the most fertile nectar of the earth from the tended beds.
The tower seems to hum its morbid tune of dissonance into the very soil around them. Isolated and rejected by the complacently cultivated rows of blissful veggies, the scattered weeds then so let their potent belief in the horrible truth about the tower be their very downfall.
Controlling Migration of Weeds
Down on the other end of this one row, some of the carrots are wondering why a dandelion is allowed to grow right alongside the carrots. It's simple, they are told. Through the great mycelium network below them, the news had announced to them that 'you carrots will have to work harder, is all.' The tallest plant wins in this ecosystem, and the carrots are thereby inspired to send their roots deep, and to grow their foliage even thicker.
On this end of the row, that dandelion and those last few carrots have become friends, and the dandelion tells them everything about the workings of the Garden. It's ok, none of the other carrots will believe any of it. In fact, I'll probably arrange a subculture myth about how all of the older carrots are being harvested because of their exposure to the tower. They'll eventually be blaming the whole harvest on that damned tower, if I like.
The real truth is, that I'm not really the greatest gardener. Sometimes whole crops fail due to my negligence, and it's pretty handy to have that tower looming over the Garden all the time, taking all of the blame.
Another truth that I allow into the group mind for chills and thrills: I allow the dandelions to grow up in the fancy beds because they are loaded with vitamin C and other nutrients. I actually throw them-- roots and all-- into the blender with some fruits, spinach and local honey and a splash or two of goat milk kefir!
Speaking of spinach, the little greenhouse that I built last year worked well, and has been stuffed with crisp fat leaves all spring.
One More Little Secret
Another little truth about the Garden's tower. While true microwave towers and their various frequencies are admittedly toxic to most of the surrounding life forms within its range, my tower in the Garden is just a metal pole. There's no technology attached to it at all. It's designed to interface directly with the minds of those below it and in view of it, and when enough observers can be made to believe in a thing, that thing becomes true enough to be effective.
This kind of mind-control probably works best on humans, but the Garden does seem to be doing better since that tower went up.
all photos above are mine, 2020 or Year Zero