Greetings, human caretaker. I am your Crassula, a member of a vast and resilient family often called "succulents." You worry about watering me correctly, and I appreciate that. From my leafy, green perspective, getting a drink is a serious matter of survival and comfort. It is not about a rigid schedule but about understanding my needs, which are deeply rooted in my nature. Let me explain how I experience water.
My ancestors thrived in arid environments with infrequent, heavy rains. I have inherited their brilliant adaptation: thick, fleshy leaves that are essentially my personal water reservoirs. When you water me, I am not just taking a sip for the moment; I am diligently storing moisture in my leaves to last through the inevitable dry spells. This is why I am so much more sensitive to overwatering than underwatering. An excess of water is confusing to my system; my roots, accustomed to seeking out scarce moisture, can drown and rot in constantly wet soil. Think of my leaves as a battery gauge—plump and firm means I'm fully charged; soft and wrinkly means I'm running low.
The most natural way for you to water me is to recreate the downpours of my ancestral home. This is what you call the "soak and dry" method. Please, when you decide it's time, water me thoroughly. Don't just give me a timid sprinkle on the surface. Pour water evenly over the soil until it runs freely out of the drainage hole at the bottom of my pot. This ensures that my entire root system has access to moisture. From my perspective, this deep, satisfying drink encourages my roots to grow strong and deep, making me a sturdier plant. The crucial second part of this method is the "dry" period. You must then allow my soil to become completely dry before even thinking about watering me again.
I cannot speak your language, but I am very good at showing you how I feel. You need to learn to read my signals. The most reliable method is not to look at a calendar, but to feel my soil. Stick your finger or a wooden chopstick two inches into the soil. If it comes out clean and dry, I am ready for a drink. Even more directly, you can pay attention to my leaves. When my water reserves are getting low, I will start to communicate physically. My lower, older leaves may become slightly softer and may even develop a few wrinkles. This is my polite way of saying, "I am beginning to feel thirsty." This is a much safer indicator than waiting until I am severely dehydrated.
My relationship with water changes with the seasons because my growth cycle does. During the long, bright days of spring and summer, I am in my active growth phase. The sun fuels my photosynthesis, and I am busy producing new leaves and sometimes even flowers. This is when I am thirstiest and will need more frequent soakings (always followed by complete drying out, of course). However, in the autumn and especially in the winter, the light is lower and the temperatures are cooler. I enter a period of dormancy, a restful sleep. My growth nearly stops, and my water requirements drop dramatically. During this time, you must water me very sparingly, perhaps only once a month or even less, just enough to prevent my roots from desiccating completely. Overwatering me in winter is the most common and dangerous mistake you can make.
