30 March 2014

I spent half an hour watering the plants in the garden today.

I never realised how long it takes, to water a garden full of plants.

So I timed myself today. And now I know.

I went out at six thirty. The sun was low in the sky. The garden still bathed in daylight, but without the heat and glare of a high sun that would evaporate the water as soon as it left the green rubber tube that served as its conduit.

Watering plants is very relaxing. The sound of water, the spray in my face, the soothing green of the plants in our lush garden.

I especially like playing with the spray control. It’s my little game, adjusting the control so the concentrated stream of water can reach the plants in the back, and turning the stream into a soft, dispersed spray for the more fragile plants. The orchids, especially.

My dad is very dedicated to his garden. For such a distracted man – he has been known to walk into children simply because he didn’t see them – the attention to detail his garden manifests is remarkable. All the trees – of different sizes, colours, and species – perfectly arrayed.

You never quite notice how much attention has gone into a garden’s arrangement until you really look at it. And today I did. All the palms, the trees, the firs. Especially the firs. My dad is going through a little fir craze, and the garden is overrun with them.

I slowly made my way around the garden, watering left and right, always adjusting the control so the spray/stream was just perfect for the plant at hand.

Before I knew it, it was dark. Not completely. But the trees had all turned different shades of grey. And the sun was nowhere to be seen.

I had got through just over half of the garden, so I watered the rest in obscurity. To make sure I didn’t miss any plant, I slowed down even more.

Watering plants in the dark is enjoyable in its own way. All the trees looked different. The texture of the leaves – overlooked in daylight – suddenly became the most prominent feature of the trees.

Some of the trees looked so alluring in the dim light I felt myself reaching out several times to touch them, to feel the texture. Some of them were soft, like animal fur. Some coarse, like… what was it like? Some yielded to my touch. Some resisted the tip of my finger.

It was a wholly pleasant experience.

Try it sometimes if you have a garden at home. You’ll never see your garden in the same way again.

Until tomorrow,




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