Whatever the case may be, hopefully the water is back flowing again, and as I write this in another state, the last garden work day of the season (scheduled for today) went off without a hitch. The main task involved planting the communal raspberry patch that I'm sure would have needed a decent watering once finished.
Okay, now to annoy the newcomers again with another "I remember when..." story. Before the garden was redesigned and became "official," there was no water source, so we had to haul in our own water. My husband and I used to have a cat, so I'd fill about four plastic kitty-litter jugs (about 3-5 gallons each) and shuttle them down Williams Street in a wheelbarrow. Someone had acquired a few rain barrels, so once in a while Allan or some other abutter would run a few connected hoses from his house. We'd have to cover the barrels to avoid breeding mosquitoes.
You can imagine how luxurious it first felt to be able to turn on a tap on the premises. Now, just like the way people get used to having a washing machine, the inconvenience of having that feature taken away feels doubly oppressive.
But even with running water, on some days I would remove the sprayer from the hose and fill the watering can a few times, usually because it's a pain to drag the hose to my plot then recoil it, but also in the interest of water conservation. With the watering can I can direct the water toward the roots, and less water is wasted by evaporating off the leaves. However, I am never sure that I am giving my plants enough water, and I'm too lazy to find out how much is needed.