It’s easy to report that landscape pros are seeing a frustrating phenomenon: people planting drought-tolerant landscapes, then killing them with watery kindness.
It’s hard to shut off the water when you dream of blooms.
If I’d had a couple more years of serious gardening under my belt, I might have planted a true Xeriscape on my southwest hell corner, the one I christened my “proof of life” garden.
It is possible to plant things that need no supplemental water, once established. But not for me, not at that moment.
I suspect my neighbors chuckle about the woman with the fancy drip system who’s still out there with her hose, hand watering.
We have gardens expressly to fuss over them. It’s like owning pets, we can spoil and enjoy them. I learned as a cook that if you’re skilled enough, you can succeed without a recipe if you pay attention. But without attention, no recipe — and no irrigation system — can save you. It’s only through attention, imbued with fierce longing, that growth becomes possible.
All this long, wet spring I have felt like a kid on a road trip with her nose pressed between the front seats, asking incessantly: “Are we there yet? Are we there yet? Are we there yet?”
Last weekend, to signal that despite the calendar, we’re into summer, I set out my favorite piece of garden bling: a solar-powered birdbath fountain that brings the music of splashing to that dry corner. A seasonal road sign.
We’re there. Water attentively. Susan Clotfelter
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