According to Mrs. ProfessorRoush and my children, I am almost impossible to buy gifts for. And they get no argument from me in that regard. In the first place, I'm a man of few wants. A little land, a little rain, a few plants, a little rain, a little peace and quiet, a little rain, and a little attention from Mrs. ProfessorRoush are about all I ask for. Anything else I want, I usually either buy before I've expressed the thought that I want it or else it is too expensive to buy and so I reason that I really don't want it. When asked, I can occasionally come up with a book I'd like to read or a new shovel I need, but nobody seems to like to give a gift when the giftee knows exactly what choices the gifter has. I would have said its an efficient use of time, but others claim that it isn't any "fun."
My fellow blogger and friend Greggo, however, he really knows the way into the cracks in a gardener's psyche. This week, I had the honor of an in-person visit from Greggo and his wife to my garden as they happened to be passing through Manhattan. It is a rare pleasure possible only in this Internet-driven world when two people with so much in common can connect and share experiences like they had known each other for years. Greggo has read enough of my blog and remembered enough to be able to ask about the outcome of some "trial" plants and to ask to see other plants he was interested in that he knew I grew. It was a great visit. Greggo collected seed from my Centaurea macrocephala, so I hope to see it growing in his yard next year.
As icing on the cake, Greggo came bearing gifts as well! In my basement window right now are the potted starts of a sedum he had gathered during his travels and was kind enough to share with me. They will eventually become Greggo's Sedum in my garden. The sneaky devil one-upped that nice gesture however, with his gift of the gas-can pictured here. An antique Eagle-brand can with "The Gasser" printed boldly on its side. Just feast your eyes on it, a real, honest-to-god, non-leaking, non-California compliant can to replace the precious one that my daughter and her boyfriend destroyed and that I wrote about earlier here. To me, it was like giving a gift of gold bullion, a gift of pure friendship, a delicious combination of knowing that I could fill a gas tank without the "no-spill" spout spilling gasoline over everything in a 10 foot radius, and also knowing that I am being a little bit defiant to our political masters. Take that, you meddling bureaucrats, I've got an old-style gas can again! That Greggo, he sure knows the science of gifting. Thanks again, Greggo!
I've already filled it and filled up the lawnmower with it, but between gas trips, it will stay hidden, safe from Mrs. ProfessorRoush and the thieving children. I know how they are; they see a good tool or gas can and too soon it is gone, spirited away never to be seen by the gardener again. Just ask my Dad about his favorite green-dipped adjustable wrench that he hasn't seen for the almost 30 years since it relocated itself to my tool box.