At the new house, I’ve had the pleasure of keeping a small garden. It’s therapeutic for me because it’s something that’s easy and rewarding to take care of.
Recently, I had overwatered the basil and it was getting a little droopy. So I opted to let the soil dry out for a few days.
On this hot, sunny day, I come home to find the topsoil freshly moistened. I think that I must be imagining things, but I see that the seedlings were neglected (when I water, I really get those little guys), and the soil near the hose is also moist. I have not watered the garden in three days.
Who watered it? T doesn’t deal with the garden–the only person who could have done this would be a neighbor or passer-by who might have thought that the droopy plants were dried out instead of soggy, and took it upon themselves to help out by watering. On one hand, this is considerate, but on the other it is prideful and a bit controlling. This person thought that they knew my garden needed watering, and acted upon that idea. I appreciate the gesture, but in the end I had to do extra work because of it.
I’m irked, but it’s hard to be mad at someone who meant well. The overwatered plants were easy to transplant, and they’ll probably survive. All this fuss reminded me of an Eastern parable I picked up from James Shea while I was studying poetics. The translation varies, but it essentially goes like this:
Here, let me help you,
said the monkey
as he put the fish in the tree.