I have been known to say that watering my plants is, for me, serene and meditative. Intuitively I count out sets of numbers - usually working with 16, but more for bigger plants, and sometimes I go back to ones I already counted out, other times I move systematically forward, all the while being at peace with my environment. Today, however, toward the end of the afternoon, I had had it. Indeed, if watering is meditative, then I could well have thought through all the major religions of the world, and considered them in their relation to the great expanse of our cosmos -- from every angle. I spent that much time on watering.
And I'm not done. Tomorrow, I'll get to the Big Bed -- the one flower field that still hasn't seen water for several weeks now.
I've been growing plants long enough to remember summer droughts and to worry if flower horticulture really makes sense given the possibility of long spells of dry weather. We pump our own water from the well at the farmette and there is no indication that we are at all depleting a water source, but still, you dont want to engage in something that requires so much intervention! So I paid attention to what I planted. Most (but not all) of the stuff that goes in is drought tolerant. Even during dry summers, I rarely water established fields. But rarely does not mean never: maybe twice a season I'll feel compelled to douse the beds with a steady hose. (Yes, a drip line would be a better plan, but I still believe that I dont need to water so often that it would warrant running those ground hoses.) Today was one such time. Five hours, maybe six total, I stood there and poured water on the hundreds of plants that badly needed it.
My knee held up, but man oh man did I need an ice pack afterwards!
Forgetting the sheer tedium of standing with a hose for so long, and even if you aren't inclined to treat it as a meditative experience, it's good for you to come in such close contact with all that you have planted. You get a keen sense of the health of your garden. Every plant receives a thorough inspection. And you notice the pretty details that can oftentimes remain hidden.
(new Clematis)
(older Clematis)
Still, it was a long day!
Of course, it didn't start with the watering job (nor did I think it would take that long!). I did my morning walk to care for the animals (another raccoon! Ed!), appreciating the stellar morning -- not so cool anymore!
(it's peony season!)
We ate breakfast on the porch...
... and then I chipped the new shade garden and Ed took down some dead branches from the pines that grow right by the front of the house.
(Dance watches)
I dig and move some hostas and a day lily or two and then, in an offhand manner I say -- I'm going to do some watering, and that's the last anyone heard from me until it was time to fix supper.
The young family is here for the Sunday meal. They had a joyously busy set of days, what with Brat Fest fair rides and kiddie pool play (it's that warm!). At the farmhouse, we slow things down a bit.
Quiet play.
With the magic of an evening meal outside.
Before they go home, I take a few photos out front. The three little chickens!
And a quiet parental moment...
There was a time when Snowdrop and Sparrow jockeyed for the platform of the front steps to make "important announcements." It's funny to see how naturally Sandpiper, too, now takes to this "stage."
And still later in the evening, Ed and I exhale, big time. Leg up, iced and resting, TV on, chocolate out. Oh yeah!
