True Love

I'm not married to a guy who showers me with high price-tag gifts. We are practical people who usually just exchange cards on special occasions. Randy doesn't often frequent the flower shop to pick up a bouquet to bring home. My engagement and wedding rings qualify as my major jewelry.

But I don't need a purchased bouquet to know my farmer loves me. The evidence is blooming on the windmill tower in our yard.

A long time ago, I saw a trumpet vine growing on an electric pole not far from our farm. I mentioned in passing that we used to have trumpet vine growing on the windmill at my childhood home.

It wasn't long before Randy had transplanted some trumpet vine on the windmill tower on the County Line. It continues to flourish. (These days our windmill tower houses the antenna for our business band radio instead of providing water.)

Someone has since told me that a trumpet vine is a weed. Well, maybe it is to that person.

But to me, it means true love. It's evidence my guy does listen to me ... at least on occasion. He is always looking for ways to "trumpet" his love in his own quiet way.