The garden is desert dry; the soil is all crumbly. The worms, I think, must hate crawling through it. It feels scratchy. My seedlings are holding on for dear life, with a thirst they cannot quench.
This is turning out to be one of Washington, D.C.'s driest March's EVER, and I don't need a weather forecaster to tell me so. I can read it in the dirt.
This is an old photo taken during our February snow, but the faucet still sits dry. The water system at the community garden will not be turned on until mid-April, so until then, it's BYOB. Michael and I gathered soda and milk jugs from the recycling bin. We use them to make watering runs to our plot. It's a four-block walk, which isn't all that convenient to do with several gallons of water in tow. I carry what I can on some days and Michael drives on others, but we can't get to it every day. We need rain desperately.
The forecast is calling for a meager one tenth to one quarter of an inch of rain tomorrow evening. I'll take it! Every last bit!
But I am not recycling those milk jugs just yet.