I was born under the wrong sign. I should have been an Aquarius–the water carrier. I’ve certainly felt like one this summer, sloshing through the apartment multiple times a day with two large watering cans (occasionally watering the carpet on my way). But that’s OK. A man came along a few weeks ago while I was out watering my plants and offered to perform the chore for me for a reasonable fee–which completely misses the point. I have a garden because I enjoy spending time with my plants. I love seeing all the changes that have happened overnight, and I love watching the thirsty soil soak up the water, knowing that water means life.
Last weekend, my husband and I visited friends in upstate New York. With an acre or so of land, they don’t face the same challenges finding space that I do. But three-year-old Abby has her own picture-perfect container garden, planted with help from Mom and big sister Emma. Abby is so adorable wearing her fairy princess dress that you almost expect to discover that her container pots are filled with silver bells and cockle shells and pretty maids all in a row. But in fact, they’re filled with radishes and bush beans. Abby has loved watching the little sprouts come up. And she already knows rule number one of gardening. As she puts it, “You have to water the plants, or they get kind of dead.” You go, you honorary little Aquarian!