Gone the Garden Guru

 

Gone the Garden Guru 

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Our gardener, Leo, was gone for a week, off to the beaches of Cabo San Lucas with a group of friends.

“No worries, Leo. I can water my own plants. I’ll do a section every day. Go have fun. All will be well.”

Easy to say, yes? Harder to live the reality. I figured three sections: front of house, back and sides of house, back yard. One, two, three. Easy, peasy.

Plants, however, are not logical. If a plant is gasping, pleading, “Feed me, feed me,” what is a woman to do. I renamed several of my plants Audrey, in honor of that piranha of plants from “The Little Shop of Horrors”. I dragged hose, front, back, all around the garden, every day, trying to appease the neediest.

It is a job which, gradually, over the years, I had given over to Leo. When temps hit 90 daily, one must drag hose, a job which I had not had to do in a long time.

We are fortunate here. We have water in abundance. Unless a water main breaks, which happens with frequency, most often quickly repaired. I pay approximately $65.00 a year for my water. I pay much more in filters to sift the sand from the water after a break in a line. Drinking water I buy separately. I digress.

After the first couple of days, I rooted around for a working sprinkler. Found one. Hooked it up. The back yard became an easily do-able job. All I had to do was move the sprinkler every couple hours. All day long.

That left all-around-the-house, drag hose, stand and point, move, stand, etc.

The following day, with a little ingenuity, I figured out how to aim the sprinkler on parts of both sides and in back as well as sections of the front garden areas. I’m also watering concrete, house brick, pathways, and other things non-productive. But, hey, the run-off crosses grassy areas which I don’t water regularly, being water-conservation conscious. These are unusual times, unusual measures, I figure, justifying my wastage to myself. Do not tell Leo.

And so it went.

When Leo returned, I proudly told him what a good job I had done, told him that I had kept of the watering regularly, nothing needed watering today, as I handed him the hose. “Oh, except I didn’t water the plumbago, the large elephant foot, the palm in the back corner or anything outside the walls.”

Much to my consternation, Leo spent the entire day dragging hose, watering every pot, bucket, tree, and container on the place that I had so diligently given drink. So much for my hard toil and genius.

I figured Leo was letting me know he is indispensable. I won’t argue.

This is the first week of May. But the rains are coming. On April 30, early in the evening, I heard the first shrill screech of a cicada. May 1, I heard 3 cicadas. Or one cicada three times. Or any combination thereof. May 2 brought in a small chorus. By next week the brown bug music will be in full swing.

Local lore has it that the cicadas sing down the rain. It won’t rain today or tomorrow. But perhaps the rains will begin in May rather than June. Leo says the old-timers, the really, really Old Ones, even older than me, say the rains used to come in May. I say, May they come.

Last night’s music was up to the strength of a small chorus. By next week the brown bug music will be in full swing. Sing down the rain, I say. Sing down the rain.

Next time Leo wants to take a holiday, I shall declare, “I forbid it.” Won’t do any good, but it will make me feel good to say it.

Sondra Ashton

HDN: Looking out my back door

May First Week

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