Well, I guess we should start off with a “happy world naked gardening day!” or something to that effect. As we just recently discovered, it’s the first Saturday in May and that can only mean it’s time to observe world naked gardening. Sure. Okay. Hip, hip, hooray? What the heck is going on? And what in the Sam Hill is world naked gardening day? I can assure you that it’s a real thing. Sadly, I can also assure you it’s a prank. A prank that kind of worked.
World naked gardening day or WNGD as it’s sometimes called by lazy typists was pretty much started as glorified prank to grab headlines for nudists or naturists. Shock?! Let’s take a peek at the Wiki – WNGD was founded and organized by Mark Storey (consulting editor for Nude & Natural magazine) and permaculturalist Jacob Gabriel, as a project of Body Freedom Collaborative (BFC).[5][better source needed] In its early days, Storey had a vision of BFC engaging in “guerrilla pranksterism”[6] such as hopping out of a van or showing up spontaneously in an urban environment and engaging in guerilla gardening.
All of that is fantastic fun. Some nudist dude starts a crazy fake day of observance and… it kind of caught on! HA! It’s actually trending on social media today, almost 20 years later. That’s hilarious! Good for everyone involved. It worked. Naturists want headlines and they got it. Tada.
What’s funny to me is that people actually garden naked or at least go out in the garden nude to grab a few pics. A photo op is one thing, but actually gardening naked? Nope. You’re out of your mind. Maybe try regular gardening first. Then you’ll quickly realize that is something you need clothes for. Like for protection. Trust me you’re gonna want coverage. I’ll just say this: Bees. You follow where I’m going? Sure. I thought so. Ouch. I’ll be doing my gardening fully clothed thanks. Nothing against being naked, just very pro not getting stung or poison ivy on places I care about very much. I’ll be saving the naked stuff for the beach. Sun, surf and sand. Much better. Way less stress. Unless you think about sharks… which I won’t. Dammit, now I’m thinking about sharks. Son of a bitch.
