Chapter 4 - The Watering Incident
Rebecca liked to joke that there were two kinds of watering in her garden:
The careful, measured, shade-garden-approved kind she did.
Whatever chaos Sam did when she wasn’t looking.
On Saturday morning, she had to run a few errands in town and left strict instructions.
“Stick to the regular watering can,” she said, pointing to the old green one by the back door. “The one with the faded handle. Do not use anything from the potting bench.”
Sam saluted her with a mug of coffee. “Got it. Hydrate the troops. Don’t touch the science experiments.”
Rebecca narrowed her eyes. “I mean it, Sam. Some of those jugs are concentrated fertilizer. They’re for mixing, not dumping.”
“Relax,” he said. “What’s the worst that could happen?”
She gave him a look that clearly said: You don’t want to know.
For the first twenty minutes, Sam did great. He filled the green watering can, strolled through the shade garden, and gently soaked the beds like a responsible adult.
Then he saw it.
Sitting proudly on the potting bench, like a trophy: a bright white gallon jug labeled in Rebecca’s handwriting:
“MIX 1 CAP PER GALLON – SUPER BOOST”
Sam read it the way non-gardeners read instructions: partially, optimistically, and incorrectly.
“Super boost,” he muttered. “That sounds efficient.”
He glanced back at the bed, where the hostas looked perfectly fine. But “perfectly fine” wasn’t very exciting. “What if,” he thought, “they could be extra fine?”
He grabbed the jug, poured a hearty splash directly into the green can—definitely more than a capful—and gave it a swirl.
“Gonna make you guys jacked,” he told the plants, heading back out.
He started with the bigger clumps—lush, established hostas that could handle almost anything. They drank it up without complaint.
Then he turned toward the small collection of pots on the bench, including one tiny seedling sitting in its own special container: the recovering baby from the Chapter 2 sun-bath incident.
“The almost-dead one,” he said. “You, my friend, need a miracle.”
He gave it an enthusiastic gulp of Super Boost water.
The seedling did not visibly thank him.
Two hours later, Rebecca came home in a good mood with a bag of groceries and a new pair of gardening gloves on sale.
She walked into the shade garden and stopped.
Everything looked… different.
The big hostas seemed to be standing taller. Leaves were perked. The whole bed looked like it had just taken a deep breath of espresso.
“What on earth…” she whispered.
“Ta-da!” Sam appeared behind her, wearing the proud grin of a man who knew he had done something and hoped it was good.
“What did you do?” Rebecca asked slowly.
“I watered!” he said. “And gave them a little extra something.” He pointed toward the potting bench. “That white jug. The super juice.”
Rebecca felt her stomach flip. “Please tell me you diluted it.”
“Well,” he said, “I put some in the can. And then I added water. Mostly. Probably. It looked right.”
She closed her eyes. “How much did you use?”
He hesitated. “Enough?”
She walked, very calmly, over to the potting bench. Her eyes went straight to the seedling’s pot—the little fighter that had survived being baked in the mail. The soil was dark and wet. The leaves were slightly glossy… and maybe just a shade too bright.
“Oh no,” she whispered. “You fertilized the baby.”
From the side gate came a familiar voice. “Everything okay in paradise?”
Linda appeared, leaning in with a curious smile. “I was just coming to check on The Rescued One.”
Rebecca gestured at the garden. “Sam gave everyone a ‘super boost.’ Including the seedling.”
Linda’s eyes widened. “Is that good or bad?”
“That,” Rebecca said, “depends on whether they explode or not.”
They all leaned in over the tiny pot. For a long, tense moment, nothing happened. Then, very slowly, one little leaf unfurled just a bit more, like it was stretching after a nap.
Linda gasped. “Oh my goodness. It likes it.”
Sam straightened up, relieved. “See? I helped.”
Rebecca stared at him. “If that seedling survives the week, you’re never going to let me forget this, are you?”
“Absolutely not,” he said.
Linda crossed her arms thoughtfully. “So… this super boost stuff… is that what makes your hostas look this good? Do I need to get some? How much is it? Is it like auction-price expensive?”
Rebecca sighed, half annoyed, half amused. “I swear, between you and Sam, I’m going to have to start labeling everything ‘FOR PROFESSIONALS ONLY.’”
But then she looked back at the garden—the taller clumps, the perked leaves, the brave little seedling trying its best—and couldn’t help but smile.
“Okay,” she admitted. “Maybe the great Watering Incident of today won’t go down as a total disaster.”
Sam fist-pumped. “Garden hero.”
“Garden hazard,” Rebecca corrected. “But… occasionally useful.”
And somewhere in the middle of the shade, the future “Rescued One” soaked up the chaos—just another chapter in a garden that never did anything halfway.
