\ˈwȯ-tər, ˈwä-\

It is precious.

It is sacred.

It is water.

I remember last summer working at the Orchard Garden where for a week at the beginning of the season, where my coworkers and I were filling up wheelbarrows and pushing them to the garden, and then filling up watering cans from the water in the wheelbarrows to water the garden. Watering easily took up an hour, trucking water back and forth, filling and emptying the cans — it was a laborious task. We eventually strung together multiple hoses to use the tap from one field and transport it to ours. It worked better, but there was still the need to run back and forth between the fields to turn it on and to coordinate irrigation times with our neighbors. The tap near our field was turned on a month later, but it was a journey to get there.

And as it fate didn’t want to break tradition, I found myself in a similar position these past few weeks at Roots on the Roof. It had been a month of emailing and coordinating with Building Operations to get the water in the garden turned. The garden was set up with an irrigation system, which comprises of drip lines throughout the plots, connected to a controller which automatically turns on and waters the entire garden at a set time of day, every day. An incredibly efficient system, it was magical seeing the plants grow last season without ever have to turn on the tap. However, with the water in the garden still turned off a month later, I found myself dancing around the weather, hoping for a mix of sun and rain, and hand watering when it was necessary.

After carrying watering cans in and out of the building to be filled at a sink, my sore arms had had enough. The amount of time and energy hand watering was taking up was starting to become ridiculous to the point that I wanted to do something ridiculous.

I remembered back to my Orchard Garden days and strung together three hoses from the tap in the daycare garden next door, fed it through three sets of doors, through the fence and into the garden. When that tap turned on, I thought I was going to cry. Flowing water in the garden! It was something so simple, yet something I didn’t appreciate until it was gone.

The moment called for a celebration, a dance, a song. I turned the nozzle setting to “mist” and marveled at its beauty.

It is precious.

It is sacred.

It is water.

 

 

 

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