At this point in the growing season, I confess that my attention to cultivation wanes. Most of the crops in my vegetable garden are near their end, and watering the hanging baskets and potted plants here at home is much less of a priority, especially when I spend so many hours away from them at school.
Even so, when I stepped out to our top deck late this afternoon the condition of the zinnias and snapdragons was quite alarming, and I filled the half-gallon purple pitcher by the door right away in an attempt to resuscitate them. Satisfied that, after several trips back and forth from the bathroom sink, they may revive enough to forgive me for a weekend out of town, I looked over the railing at the hanging baskets on the level below. They, too, were in considerable stress.
I could have gone downstairs to fill the gallon pitcher I keep in the kitchen, but laziness got the best of me. I refilled my trusty upstair pitcher and leaned over, aiming the stream of water 8 feet down to hit the basket centers so that it might hydrate without splashing out. It was challenging enough to be fun, and I was giggling a little when a neighbor wandered by with her dog.
"Whatcha doing?" she asked in amusement, and when I explained, she stayed to watch, well beyond the splash zone, but laughing with me, all the same.
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