From my perspective, the most immediate and dangerous threat is overwatering. When you provide too much water, you are essentially suffocating me. My roots, which are my mouth and lungs, need oxygen from the air pockets in the soil to breathe and function. When the soil is constantly saturated, these air pockets fill with water, creating an anaerobic environment. My roots begin to rot, turning soft, brown, and mushy. They can no longer absorb water or nutrients, which creates a cruel irony: I start to show signs of thirst even though my feet are wet. You might see my lower leaves turning yellow and wilting, a sign of systemic failure. The stems near the soil line may also become soft and black. If you were to gently lift me from my pot, you would not see healthy, white, fibrous roots searching for sustenance, but a decaying, foul-smelling mess. This root rot is often a death sentence if not caught early.
While less immediately fatal than drowning, underwatering subjects me to a slow, stressful decline. My entire structure is designed to hold water, and when it becomes scarce, I must go into survival mode. The first sign you will notice is my leaves and stems becoming limp and wilting. This is not a passive droop; it is an active conservation effort. I am reducing my surface area to minimize water loss through transpiration. My leaves, which are normally firm and slightly waxy, will feel dry and brittle to the touch. They will begin to curl at the edges and may turn a pale green or even develop dry, brown, crispy patches, starting at the tips and margins. My growth will slow dramatically or stop altogether, as I do not have the necessary hydration to support the production of new cells. My flower buds, if I have any, are my highest priority to abort, as they require immense resources. They will dry up and fall off before they ever have a chance to open, my way of redirecting the little moisture I have to keeping my core alive.
You cannot know my water needs by the calendar alone. My thirst depends on the sunlight I receive, the temperature, the humidity, and the soil I am planted in. The most reliable way to understand what I need is to check the soil itself, my immediate environment. Do not just look at the surface, which can be deceptive. Push your finger about an inch or two into the soil near my base. If the soil feels cool and moist, I do not need a drink. Please wait. If it feels dry and crumbly, then it is time to water me. When you do water, do so thoroughly and deeply, allowing water to flow freely from the drainage holes at the bottom of my container. This encourages my roots to grow deep and strong, making me more resilient. Then, allow the top layer of soil to dry out before the next watering. This cycle of moist-to-dry is the rhythm I crave, mimicking the natural conditions I evolved to thrive in.
Beyond the obvious wilting, my leaves and flowers give you more nuanced information. In the case of overwatering, the yellowing of my leaves is often a uniform, sickly yellow, particularly affecting the older, lower leaves first. The foliage may feel soft and pulpy. With underwatering, the browning is dry and crispy, and the wilting is accompanied by an overall loss of turgor pressure—I simply cannot stand up straight. My flowers are a clear indicator of my overall health. Consistently adequate water will allow me to produce vibrant, long-lasting blooms. Stress from either extreme will cause bud blast (dropping buds) or result in smaller, paler, and shorter-lived flowers. Paying attention to these subtle changes allows you to correct my care before the situation becomes critical.
