BY SALLIE SATTERTHWAITE
sallies@juno.com

“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.”

I 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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