"Excuse

me," I said to one of two guys at Kmart's garden

department checkout. "On behalf of those poor

helpless plants out there, could I suggest you water them

before they all die?"

I'd been

looking for replacements for some of mine that didn't

make it, and it was unnerving to hear the pathetically

drooping leaves in front of the store gasping. The

morning sun had not yet reached them, but they knew what

they were in for.

"They're

all half-price," he replied. "All except the

Martha Stewart plants; they're regular price."

"What does that have to do with whether they need

water?" I asked, incredulous. "They can't get

up and water themselves, and you're going to lose the

whole bunch." "They're already dead," he

answered with a shrug. "Well, no, they're not, but

if they were, are you still planning to sell them for

half-price?" "Yeah," he responded,

"they're half-price." "Then why don't you

just give them away?" asked another customer in

line.

"We

can't do that," the guy responded, looking at his

colleague for support. His face registered emotion for

the first time. I think he was afraid we were accusing

him of doing something sensible.

"Then

why not water them and sell them for regular price?"

I said. "That way the plants wouldn't die and the

store will make money." "The Martha Stewart

plants are regular price," was his reply, like that

explained everything.

As my

fellow columnist Dave Barry says every week, I swear I'm

not making this up. It was one of those moments on which

I made mental notes because I knew it would surface as a

column. I kept thinking the guy - who appeared to be

something of a supervisor, at least over the clerk

running the cash register - would site watering

restrictions, and I was trying to figure out whether

Kmart was on the odd or even side of Crosstown Road. That

didn't seem to be the case, however.

Besides, I

think plant sellers are allowed to water.

Despite the

fact that we never use enough to get above the water

department's minimum charge, we're in drought mode at our

house. That means doing dishes by hand and catching

kitchen water in dishpans. When Dave proposed this plan,

I quoted him back to himself saying the dishwasher uses

less water than doing dishes by hand.

"It

does," he replied, wearing that look that means he

was ready for my objection. "But what the dishwasher

uses goes down the drain. What you use in dishpans can be

thrown outside on the plants." I was impressed, both

that he cared and that he - who washes most of the

dishes in this house - was willing to put muscle to

his principles and lug pans of water across the deck.

Splashing the feet of oaks and sweetgums that share with

us their shade is also a gratitude thing with him.

Another of

his ideas is at work every summer, drought or no, and

that's the hose directing the air-conditioning discharge

to the trees at that corner of the house. We

intentionally do not have a lawn, and this is the first

year I have not had a garden, although that was more a

matter of being out of town than of clairvoyance.

The only

outdoor watering we do is to keep the birdbaths full. On

odd days, of course. Explain that to a sweaty robin.

While on our walk recently - an endeavor that

requires earlier and earlier rising to avoid becoming a

heat statistic - we noticed we had to step carefully

to avoid splashing on two different places on the path.

Water was running in a steady stream through the cart

path tunnel under Crosstown, draining from the bank at

the corner.

If I had

money in that bank - which I don't - I'd sure

resent both their misspending it that way and the poor

citizenship such waste represents. Not bad enough to

squander water, it was happening on an "odd"

day. Need I tell you what their address is?

A few

minutes later we were behind a subdivision from which

water was coursing down across the path and into the dry

wetlands beyond. I'm glad a bit of moisture was reaching

the nature preserve, but I wouldn't be human if I didn't

harbor a smidge of rancor that these residents were so

indifferent to what should be a community-wide effort.

One was speaking audibly: "Don't worry about it.

They're not going to come way back here to check on

us."

appreciated Dave Hamrick's recent reminiscences about

Lois Clendenen and her year-round conservation habits.

Lois was a class act, her thrifty lifestyle natural to

someone who had come up through hard times and abhorred

waste. (I can't help wanting to chide Dave for saying he

feels guilty, but admits to being less frugal. I think

Lois's memory would be honored if he emulated her

stewardship.)

In his

column, Dave correctly summarized the situation: There

are more people now living on land with finite resources.

Seems to me

the solution can be only one of the following: (a) Stop

growth, and draw lots for who will move out, since

shortages already exist. (b) Find more water. (c) Work

together with our neighbors - commercial as well as

residential - to conserve what we have. It's a

matter of attitude and a willingness to sacrifice our

wants for the good of community.

Now if I

could only figure out how you get to be a Martha Stewart

plant? Sounds like your life could depend on it.

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