In the evening and very slowly is the best way to water a garden, and that’s what I’m doing.
Rustling leaves in the nearby woods catch my attention. Too small a noise to be that of a deer, the sounds must be something little. I turn from the spray of water I am directing at my potato patch in time to see the striped black and tan back of a chipmunk as it disappears into the vivid green underbrush.
I am watering my garden at the best time of the day—as setting sun rays tint trees and leaves with gold, and the air cools into crispness.
I direct the hose to the next potato row, take a deep breath and drink in the sounds and scents of a peaceful summer twilight. Birdcalls fill the air with soft, end-ofthe day sounds, so different from their loud morning chatter. Even the call of a pileated woodpecker is muted in the deepening dusk.
The forest vegetation beyond the garden’s fence is thick with shrubs, grasses and wild flowers. I recognize the dark red berries on a tall shrub as June berries or Saskatoons. The wild plants are ripening. Summer is quickly slipping by as it always does.
The water falls softly from the hose as I direct the spray in a gentle arc. The potatoes in this patch are tall, lanky and have yet to flower. Hopefully, they’ll yield a good harvest, but with gardening, you never know…
Satisfied that these potatoes have enough water, I move to the onion rows, give them a good drink and drag the hose over to my second potato patch. These guys are blooming, which means I should have a good harvest, but they need a proper watering, so I spend some quality time with them.
Since this garden is unfenced, a deer has decided to meander in it. I chuckle at the deep hoof imprints plopped directly across it without causing harm. Sometimes gardening is just a matter of luck.
When the potato and onion patches are finished, I bring my watering skills to the deck where I take my sweet time admiring and giving drinks to pink and white impatiens, begonias and Cranesbill’s Geraniums. Earlier this spring, during a huge burst of energy, I filled the deck with colorful flowers, which now I must keep watered.
Finally, I check my small herb garden, placed on the deck railing directly outside my kitchen door.
Loons call out on the lake as the light fades, creating a perfect end of the day. I don’t mind the extra gardening work I’ve created for myself, especially on a beautiful summer night such as this. My genuine enjoyment brings back memories of my mother who loved to spend her twilights watering the flowers surrounding our Minneapolis house. Of course, I never thought I would inherit her “evening watering” gene. But I did.
Leave a Reply