True blue, rare in flowers, is easily obtainable in bog sage

Jimmy Williams

A fool’s paradise, it is — now, that is. Here it is, just 10 days until Christmas and fools like me are staring into space and doing virtually nothing about it. Hey, there gifts to be bought and decorations to be taken care of, and the boob tube and football games yet call, even on week nights: Monday night football, Thursday night football, etc. Procrastination is the name of the game. Sleep comes fitfully, if at all, and the first consciousness we understand upon awakening is the sorry shape we are in again this Christmas. It is certainly a sin to be antsy about Christmas, when indeed it should be the most joyous time of year. Hurrah for Santa, all right, but far more hurrah for Jesus Christ. In fact, if there had not been a Jesus Christ, there would not be a Santa — end of sermon. About 75 years ago, I somehow got out of the habit of writing a letter to St. Nicholas every Christmas Eve. He has never let me down, but I have let him down. No more boiled custard and fruit cake for him under the tree. My bad. Say wha? Well, let’s get down to brass tacks and see what we can rustle up at the last minute for the gardener in your life. My friend, Steve McCadams, does a yeoman’s job at this in his outdoors column herein, telling in detail what his wife (a pseudonym for Steve) would like for “her” fishing and hunting endeavors. Well, My Assistant has hinted that she might take up gardening if she just had the right tools. Mine seem to disappear into thin air now and then, and she is loath to borrow them anyway. First thing P.C.W. would need is, of course, a heavy duty digger trowel. I tell her to Google up Brent and Becky’s Bulbs and order out one. They are one of only a few dealers I know of. As I reported here a few weeks ago, my two, going on 30 years old, disappeared into the said thin air and have not been seen since. This little jewel of a tool costs some $16, American money, and is well worth it. If not lost, it will last a lifetime. Heck, nearly anything will last a lifetime at our age. That lifetime, like the old gray mare, ain’t what it used to be. (Reminds me of the old man fishing in a creek, when a frog jumped out of the water and said “Pick me up.” (The man was startled, but he picked up the frog and the frog said, “If you will kiss me I will turn into the most voluptuous woman you have ever known.” (The man put the frog in his pocket and buttoned it. The frog said “Didn’t you hear me?” The man said he did but at his age he would rather have a talking frog.) Enough of that. Of recent vintage are a whole plethora of battery-driven tools. I saw one of the courthouse lawn maintenance men using a batterypowered string trimmer a few weeks ago with excellent results on our well-maintained courthouse lawn. He tells me he wouldn’t trade it for a farm in Georgia. I might get one for My Assistant, so then I can borrow it from time to time. Then Paul and Peggy Veazey demonstrated to me a batterypowered chain saw a few days later. This was no wimp, though a professional logger would find it too light. Pruning a tree, it went through 4-inch branches like a hot knife through butter. Again, I am serious about getting one for My Assistant, with, again, an ulterior motive. There are battery-powered blowers and other garden tools, as well, that take the stench of spilled gasoline and oil out of the picture, as well as offering lighter weight. Get one for yourself, and Al Gore will be proud. ------------ “And I heard him exclaim ere he drove out of sight, ‘Happy Christmas to all and to all a good night.’”

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