KERRE MCIVOR

IT’S NOT THAT EASY KEEPING THE GARDEN GREEN

Forgive me if I dash through my latest update with you. I can’t stay long. It’s the garden. It has to be watered. And the irrigation system is broken.

Of course it would break during the longest, hottest February ever – which I am absolutely loving, but the beautiful plants? Not so much. By the end of a long scorching day, their leaves are drooping and their heads are bowed.

And I can’t get any enjoyment diving into the pool or lying on the deck with my book unless I know I have watered the plants every single night.

It takes forever. And we only have a small garden. I can’t imagine what it would be like to have a proper half-acre section, planted out with flowers and veges and herbs.

When our backyard was landscaped, the designer thoughtfully provided us with gorgeous low-care plants that bring maximum pleasure for minimum maintenance – but in the middle of summer, with a broken pipe, I am being forced to maintain it.

And everybody’s watering systems seem to have gone on the blink right in the middle of summer. I was told by the folks who fix these things that there’s a two-week wait before they can get someone out to us, so in the meantime, it’s up to me to get out there and provide the water.

For the first couple of days it was fine. I went all Zen on it and took deep breaths and revelled in the greenery and beauty that surrounded me. By the end of the week though, I was thinking of all the other things I needed to do (stack the dishwasher, fold the washing, prepare for work the next day) and all the other things I wanted to do (read, take a long bath, do the cryptic crossword) that I simply couldn’t do while I was on the other end of the hose.

I started to resent my lovely garden – and that wouldn’t do. Every day, I’d check the weather forecast and see if rain was on the horizon, and every day

I’d sigh and realise I’d have to put “water the garden” on my to-do list again.

Over the weekend, I had a brain wave. Why not get a sprinkler? The layout of the garden – three sides of a square – meant I would have to shift the sprinkler every five minutes or so but at least I could get on with other chores.

So off to the hardware store I went – and what lovely helpful people they were! If only I knew what to do with all the aisles and aisles of widgets and gadgets they sell!

The sprinkler, however, was not 100% successful. It seemed more intent on spraying the concrete or the deck – or me. I just couldn’t seem to place it in the right spot. I couldn’t be faffed going and turning off the tap and shifting it every five minutes, so

I just took off my clothes and let the sprinkler spray me as I moved the thing, revelling in being naked and cool.

I got a sense of how my plants were feeling. I certainly felt a lot more perky after a thorough drenching – although to be fair, no amount of water was going to prevent my droopy bits drooping.

The good news is that the garden is still alive. Tiny fern fronds are appearing, flowers whose names I don’t know are blooming, and baby mandarins are budding.

And in more good news, the watering-system fixer is now only a week away. Which means I can leave town and head up to the Hoki with a clear conscience. And I won’t have the same panic about keeping plants alive up north. They are made of sterner stuff up there. On tank water, I simply can’t give the trees and the flowers the same nurturing their city cousins get. If it rains, they get water; if it doesn’t, they either survive or they don’t.

Speaking of survival, I’d better get out there before it’s too dark to see, and water the last section of the garden.