My husband went through a period of Pure Hell several years ago. To combat nervous jitters, he started gardening.
This is something I would have never believed. I could see him losing his mind and growing weed, but taking over the fenced-in privacy area and planting all sorts of stuff that you can't smoke simply wasn't HIM.
When he put in the water fountain I was sure the cheese had slipped off of his cracker. We gathered and trucked rocks for two days to get this thing like he wanted it.
Whatever it took to keep him occupied and off of the news channels. "Today, a man in Georgia went on a rampage, taking an entire county with him. More at eleven."
Before it was finished, we had a huge rocked-in fountain, banana trees, all sorts of plants planted here and there, and several hanging baskets that he tended religiously. He did a wonderful job and I was impressed. It was very nice. We spent a lot of our time together in his garden while he decompressed.
Then The Fateful Day arrived...........
While my Basket Case is watering his hanging baskets, he was struck by a green mamba.
Did you know that we have these things in Georgia?
Just as the cold water hit one of the baskets, a green blur shot out, and hit him right smack in the middle of the forehead.
And it stuck there.
He is going to die and he knows it. Very few people survive a mamba strike. He grabbed for the snake, and flung it.
I found one at the office last week in a garbage can and got this pic of The Deadliest Viper in the state:
Yes. I laughed until I cried. This is a character flaw and I'm workin' on it. Really.
The hanging baskets are now gone, the fountain was given to one of the kids, the rocks (all three tons) were pressed into service to bolster the dirt by the ditch pipe so the driveway would stay put, and the only thing green in the privacy area is grass, cut painfully short once a week. Whether it's needed or not.
Keeps the mamba population down, you understand.