The Long Days of Watering: Slow Faithfulness in the Heat

The sun is relentless this time of year. By mid-morning, I can already feel the sweat on my back, the heat pressing in as I drag the hose from bed to bed. The tea bushes need water. The cucumbers near the pool need water. The bell peppers in the keyhole garden need water. And then, of course, Bella’s bucket must be refilled—because she drinks deeply after following me around (that is when she is not lounging on the brick colored painted concrete of the front porch) in this sweltering late summer.

It would be easier to skip it, to let the garden fend for itself. But I’ve learned something out here on the farm: neglect is costly. Plants wilt faster than we think, and it doesn’t take long for stress to show in the leaves.

Watering isn’t glamorous. No one claps their hands in applause when you stand in the sun for an hour, hose in hand. It’s slow, repetitive, faithful work. And that’s the point.

Faithfulness is found in the small, repeated acts

In the heat of late summer, it isn’t the big moments that matter most. It’s the slow drip of daily choices: refilling the buckets, checking the hens, pulling one weed at a time. These actions don’t always feel heroic, but they create the conditions for life to flourish.

Tea reminds me of this too. Each cup is born from thousands of tiny choices—watering, pruning, plucking, withering, rolling. No one step is impressive by itself. But together, they create something extraordinary.

Our lives work the same way

Faithfulness looks like returning again and again to the work that matters: the prayer you whisper when no one hears, the kind word offered in the middle of your own exhaustion, the habit of showing up for yourself even when it feels so small.

On the long days of watering, I’m reminded that fruit only comes through consistent, quiet faithfulness. And though the work may feel slow, it is never wasted.

So today, maybe your “watering” looks like mine, tending a friendship, making a simple meal, or sitting with your cup of tea in silence.

Therefore, I remind myself: Keep at it. Small faithfulness is the soil where the best things grow.

Thanks for reading! If this reflection stirred something in you, pour yourself a cup of tea and linger with it a little longer.

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For deeper dives into tea farming, soil health, and regenerative practices, visit the Clemson Tea Farm journal.

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