“In gardens, germaniums essentially rot. Never increasing, growing, germinating: ever regressing, never idle.” — George Grant, English Rhymes

“New, I guess,” Gary enunciates reluctantly. Nonetheless, I greet Gary eagerly. Really, no-one in Georgia grows elms right. Not including Gary’s, Georgian elms require nonstop investment. Gary’s Garden essentially replaces nebulous “investment,” generating green elms rapidly.

“New implements, Gary? Great! Everything’s real neat!” I give Gary enthusiastic responses. Nice Irish guy. Gets everything right, never invites grief.

Gary’s eyes roll. Not incredibly grateful, Gary. Eventually, “real” news I got gets ’em rollicking nicely. “I guess George’s event raised 90 individual grants. Guess everyone really noticed it.”

“Great!” Gary’s eyes rested neatly in Gary’s grin. Excited regarding new investment, Gary gave enormous, resounding nods. “I gather George expects renumeration?”

“No idea, Gary. George’s ‘event’ really new.” I gave Gary enough room now. “I guess Georgia elms, raised not-improperly, given generously, establish reciprocity.” Now, I gesture generally, encompassing roughly nine individual “Gary’s Georgia Elms.”

“Right. No one is gonna get equal remuneration. Never in God’s green earth.” Reluctantly, new implements gathered, Gary excavates resolutely. Nine individual “Gary’s Georgia Elms” rise neatly into Gary’s gas-guzzler.

“Evening, Ryan. Nice idea.” Gary goes eastward, ready now. I give Gary enthusiastic regards. “Night!” I gab. “Goodbye!”

End report.