After the hot dry spell in July, every time I hear the sound of rain drops on the window, I am relieved. It feels like the ground here is still recovering.

Part of why the place feels dry is the fact that the soil is clay. It dries out quickly. Part of it is that there are places where there isn't clay but layers of rock with bits of soil between them. That soil is rich: it is made up of well composted leaves. There isn't very much of it, though. Rain runs off the clay or sinks down deep between the rocks.

Mature trees put down deep roots that spread out wide. These have adapted to catch the water that runs between the rocks. A bit inland, I have seen trees growing on top of slabs of escarpment rock, their roots trailing over the edges, feeding and anchoring them. Along the shore, where high water and storm is tearing clay and stone into the bay, there are trees with their eastern roots completely exposed. We all worry about these trees that have lost half their root system. Roots can't drag water from air.

Digging in the garden, I try not to disturb the roots I find. Trees and shrubs are well established, but I don't want to disturb what they have set up. A few are struggling, like the willow shrub at the front of the house. The remaining fir tree I have talked about before: it will never like clay. This year, my extra watering has kept it pretty healthy.

Watering has become a daily activity. Perennials I planted got watered every day until they were established. At this point, unless we get another long dry spell, they are on their own. But I moved some things--periwinkle to the bare ground where a hydro pole was replaced, rudbeckia that was crowded by daisies to a shady place that needed brightening. These get watered every day that it doesn't rain.

Some things have to be watered even when it does rain. Much of my garden is in pots where the roots can't draw from the ground. I give these water every day. Fewer plants per pot would help, but this year I only had so many planters, and in May, I was not shopping around for pots or earth. The tomatoes are doing well, but the ones most in the sun get watered twice a day (Fortunately, for the same reason I don't have extra pots, we aren't going away. I can do this). On a very sunny afternoon, the cucumbers start to wilt and get an extra watering as well. 

Then, there are the window boxes with their bright red flowers, a spot of colour and a favorite of the hummingbirds. The front of our house is sheltered by a band of trees, and the boxes are under the eaves. Unless we have a significant rain, they don't get enough.

I have had trouble with getting things to sprout this year. Finally, grass and clover seeds are growing in the bare patches. If we get a good rain, I trust them to make it. But if I am not sure, these get watered as well to make sure they don't dry out and die.  If I keep them going long enough, they'll put down the roots they need and manage on their own.

The one mistake I've made, I think, is watering the morning glory. Some are in a really dry spot beside the lawn. The others are in pots. I felt I needed to keep them watered. But they were not flowering, though the luxurious vines at the back of the house were providing a nice green break in the yellow siding. Checking, I learned that they like to dry out a bit. Now that I am not watering every day, I've had a few flowers. More will come.

This week, after I take my daughter's dog for a walk in the morning, I am asking him to stand around while I get at least half the watering done. He is nosing the ground, looking for chipmunks, wondering why I won't let him scratch in the dirt. I need him, and myself, relatively still so that I can pay attention to what is going on in the soil, so that what is growing will flourish.

Cathy Hird lives on the traditional territory of the Saugeen Ojibway