Watering someone else’s garden

I’ve spent the past couple of weeks watering someone else’s garden. (This isn’t some ~deep~ metaphor, I’ve literally been watering someone else’s garden.)

My daughter agreed to water her boyfriend’s parent’s garden while they’ve been away on holiday, and as they live two villages over and she doesn’t drive, it inevitably fell on to me to facilitate. Because of the ridiculous back to back heatwaves we’ve been having in the UK, we’ve been popping over every other day and what started as begrudging transport duties rapidly became one of my favourite parts of that day.

You have to understand: I would love a greenhouse but my garden is really too small for it to be feasible, and these folks have a greenhouse. And while I was mostly there to water the tomatoes and beans, I couldn’t help but spot the sad looking spider plants on the back shelf, a recently trimmed Christmas cactus, what I think is a Wooly Torch growing up through the shelf above it, two varieties of pepper (spicy, not sweet) and a tiny Jade with a possible mealy bug infestation.

I left the poorly Jade and the cacti alone (they’re probably loving the sun) but successfully managed to bring one of the spider plants back to life which has brought me some ridiculous level of joy. I’m not entirely sure why; it’s obviously not my plant, and they’re not exactly difficult to keep happy. The peppers, tomatoes and beans have done okay and touch wood – as of last night – nothing was dead. I’m hoping everything will pass muster once the parents get home tomorrow.

The funny thing though? I’ve been so busy watering someone else’s garden I’ve been forgetting to water my own (now that feels like a metaphor).