Greener than you think
The urge to water my plant is almost unbearable. I know I've been told to leave it alone, but I'm going to water it - I can feel it. Plants need water. I've got water. Therefore, I should water my plant. The leaf buds are still there. They've not turned cancerous or anything. All will be well, I believe, if I can stop myself freaking out and watering it before it wants watering.
But when does it want watering? It's a plant - it doesn't speak English (or German or Irish or Spanish - at least I know the words for water - if it spoken any of those languages and asked me for water, there's a goodly chance it would get it). Normally, when a plant wants watering, it wilts because it's conserving what little energy it's got. This plant hasn't got leaves - it's got buds. Buds don't wilt - they turn brown and crunchy. In other words, they cease.
I suppose I could shove a pencil down into the soil...if it comes out wet, then the plant doesn't want watering. I tried that yesterday (was it?); for my efforts, I got a pencil with bits of dirt on. The top layer looks dry. I'm going to dig about in it. I should go and fetch a spoon. Actually, a folding bone will do.
The soil is a wee bit damp. I'd hardly call it wet (but then, it isn't as though I dug down to the bottom of the pot). So...to water or not to water. I don't suppose I have to pour a great deal of water over it...
Oh, why can't you behave like my other plants!? They don't mind being watered in the least - na, in fact they welcome it. Jesus, a plant refusing water is a bit like a tortoise refusing oxygen. Sort of thing.
Yes, and what of those other plants? What, indeed. The poinsettia's swopped most of its brown-spotted leaves for lush, pale green ones, and the devil's ivy - it needs a shelf of its own. It's grown a tendril that's nearly two-foot long. It had been creeping up on the poinsettia (as if to strangle it - they're competitive, my plants), but lately it's shown more interest in my outbox. It's actually somewhat eerie. I've moved the tendril a handful of times, and yet I always find it someplace else. I wonder what my plant gets up to when I'm not here. On the other hand, perhaps I'd rather not know. I prefer not to think of it as something that might eat me.
But when does it want watering? It's a plant - it doesn't speak English (or German or Irish or Spanish - at least I know the words for water - if it spoken any of those languages and asked me for water, there's a goodly chance it would get it). Normally, when a plant wants watering, it wilts because it's conserving what little energy it's got. This plant hasn't got leaves - it's got buds. Buds don't wilt - they turn brown and crunchy. In other words, they cease.
I suppose I could shove a pencil down into the soil...if it comes out wet, then the plant doesn't want watering. I tried that yesterday (was it?); for my efforts, I got a pencil with bits of dirt on. The top layer looks dry. I'm going to dig about in it. I should go and fetch a spoon. Actually, a folding bone will do.
The soil is a wee bit damp. I'd hardly call it wet (but then, it isn't as though I dug down to the bottom of the pot). So...to water or not to water. I don't suppose I have to pour a great deal of water over it...
Oh, why can't you behave like my other plants!? They don't mind being watered in the least - na, in fact they welcome it. Jesus, a plant refusing water is a bit like a tortoise refusing oxygen. Sort of thing.
Yes, and what of those other plants? What, indeed. The poinsettia's swopped most of its brown-spotted leaves for lush, pale green ones, and the devil's ivy - it needs a shelf of its own. It's grown a tendril that's nearly two-foot long. It had been creeping up on the poinsettia (as if to strangle it - they're competitive, my plants), but lately it's shown more interest in my outbox. It's actually somewhat eerie. I've moved the tendril a handful of times, and yet I always find it someplace else. I wonder what my plant gets up to when I'm not here. On the other hand, perhaps I'd rather not know. I prefer not to think of it as something that might eat me.