Watering the Forsythia at 1:00 am

We (meaning Terry) transplanted a bunch of forsythia plants (they were mostly volunteers too small to yet be called shrubs at this point) recently, and have been watering them regularly to keep them alive.

It was around 1:00 am when Terry remembered that he hadn't yet watered them today, and they need it. So I suggested that he water them now, I'd hold the flashlight for him. I pointed out that it would be easier for him to do it now than to wake up early and do it in the morning, and if he waits until tomorrow evening they'll already be too dried out by tomorrow's sun.

So we filled our containers with water, and took the pickup truck out to the forsythia hill. I held the lantern while he went back and forth from the truck bed to the plants with buckets of water. There were some enormous moths or something attacking me while I was holding the light, so I didn't care for that but my job was otherwise easy. In fact, one moth got stuck in my jacket and didn't come out until after I was already in the house and started flying around here, but my cats caught it. I'm leaving the carcass out overnight, hopefully the cats will eat it so I won't have to pick it up and throw it out in the morning.

Anyway, forsythia don't care what time they get watered. If they were relying on mother nature, they'd sometimes get watered (rained on) during the day, sometimes at night. So we're just being environmentally correct. Like those zookeepers that feed wild animals while wearing hand puppets that resemble the young animals' parents. We're like extreme farmers (or more precicely horticulturalists in this instance) on PBS. Or so I cast us in the documentary of my life that plays in my mind (it's a live show).