From my perspective, the soil around my roots should be a place of life, a medium that holds both moisture and air. When you are too generous with water, you flood my world. The air pockets in the soil disappear, and my root system, which needs to breathe just like you do, begins to suffocate. The first signs of this distress are not immediately visible to you above the soil, but they are catastrophic for me below.
My roots, deprived of oxygen, start to rot. They turn from a healthy white or tan color to a mushy, dark brown or black. They lose their structural integrity and become unable to perform their most critical jobs: absorbing water and nutrients. Ironically, even though I am sitting in water, I am dying of thirst because my damaged roots cannot transport it. You will see this reflected in my leaves, which will turn yellow, often starting with the lower, older leaves. They will feel soft and limp, not dry. In severe cases, you might notice a foul smell emanating from the soil—a sure sign of root rot. My overall growth will become stunted, and my flower buds may wilt and drop before they ever get a chance to open.
On the opposite end of the spectrum, when you forget to water me, I enter a state of survival. My primary goal is to conserve every drop of moisture I have. The first and most obvious sign is wilting. My leaves and stems will droop, losing their turgor pressure—the water pressure that keeps me upright and firm. This is my urgent plea for help. If you water me at this stage, I will likely perk up quickly.
However, if the drought continues, the damage becomes more severe. My leaves will not just wilt; they will begin to dry out. They will turn brown and crispy, starting at the tips and edges, and feel brittle to the touch. This browning is different from the yellowing of overwatering; it is a dry, papery death. My growth will be severely slowed or halted altogether as I lack the water necessary for basic metabolic processes. My flower production will be the first thing I sacrifice to save energy, so you will see few, if any, buds. The soil will pull away from the edges of the pot, and it will feel dry and dusty deep down, not just on the surface.
To avoid both these fates, you need to understand my language. Do not rely on a fixed schedule, as my thirst changes with the weather, the seasons, and the size of my pot. The most reliable way to know what I need is to check the soil directly. Please, stick your finger about an inch or two into the soil near my base. If the soil feels cool and moist, I do not need water. If it feels dry, it is time for a drink.
Another method is to lift my pot. A pot that is light in weight is dry, while a pot that feels heavy likely still has plenty of moisture. When you do water me, do so deeply and thoroughly until water runs out of the drainage holes. Then, allow the top layer of soil to dry out before watering again. This cycle of moist-to-dry provides the perfect balance of hydration and aeration that my roots crave. Providing me with well-draining soil is also a fundamental act of kindness, as it prevents water from pooling around my roots, giving me the environment I need to thrive.
