It's kind of like saying to King Kong, "Pssssssst, there's an all you can eat banana buffet just half an hour from where you live."

It's that time of year again, the time when all our local nurseries start their big plant sales because the growing season here is definitely winding down. Quebec's biggest perennial plant producer is just half an hour from where I live. They just began a half price sale on many of their perennials.

Coincidentally, I would like to say that there is no such thing as too many hosta. It doesn't matter that I don't actually have a place to plant any more hosta. That is a mere technicality. The important point to always keep in mind is that there is no such thing as too many hosta.

So when I came home last night with the trunk of the Marnmobile overflowing with hosta and the spousal unit started rolling his eyes and demanding just exactly where I planned to plant these hosta I tried to be patient.

Frankly, it amazes me that he is unable to grasp the basic concept that there is not such thing as too many hosta. It took all my self control not to get huffy when he tried to compare his inexplicable need to collect Odd Things That Might Someday Prove Useful with my judicious collecting of hosta.

He is a packrat and the stuff he drags home is junk. He is answering to some weird, dark, inexplicable compulsion.

I, on the other hand, I am answering a basic law of the universe: there is no such thing as too many hosta.

Oh yeah, we're talking apples and oranges here.

People who grow hosta kiss off flowering. Shut up. We're not freaks. We have just, um, attained a Zen like appreciation of the subtlety of life. We are, uh, evolved. Yeah, that's it. Evolved.

Leaves. For us it's all about the leaves. It's not that hosta don't flower, they do�long spikes covered with tiny bell shaped flowers that can vary from white to pale mauve all the way to dark purple. But it's not about the flowers, which are pretty non-descript.

I have continued last year's fascination with yellow leaved hosta because I love the way they kind of glow against other plants with standard dark green leaves. These are some of last year's purchases that I have temporarily tucked in at the edge of the woods because I have run out of places to plant hosta.

I am absolutely positively certain that I put their name stakes in the ground with them but the stakes are gone and so I am unable to identify them by name. This mysterious name stake disappearance I am blaming on gnomes since we all know that gnome gangs regularly roam gardens.

It's the only rational explanation.

This year's purchases include two monstrously huge yellow hosta which have leaves about the size of rhubarb leaves. If the tags are correct, they will end up only slightly smaller than the Marnmobile. Every time I look at them I want to make jungle sounds.

I also bought several pots of smaller but equally yellow hosta. I don't make jungle sounds to them, but I have told them several times that it's not the size of their leaves, it's what they do with them.

I keep wandering out to the pond and making happy cooing sounds at all the new hosta. It is the spousal unit's opinion that all yellow leaved plants look as if they are dying. The spousal unit is not fond of the yellow leaved plants. Philistine.

He is also asking pointed questions about exactly where I intend to put hosta that will grow to be only slightly smaller than the Marnmobile. There are times when the man can be alarmingly petty.

I think we can all agree that the important thing to keep in mind is that there is no such thing as too many hosta.

Even worse, he's been making pointed references as to how some of last year's other purchases are still in the temporary bed I made for them by the woodshed and have yet to find a permanent home one year later.

Hmph. The man has no vision.

Next week two, count 'em two backhoes and a dump truck will materialize here and we will start moving 10 to 12 loads of soil from along the banks at the side of our road up here to the hill in front of our house. I am giddy at the thought of all that diesel power at my disposal.

We are going to completely reshape the landscape in front of our house and once the soil has settled next spring I will have the equivalent of about half an acre to play with. This should pretty much keep me occupied until I die and provide a home to far, far more hosta than the spousal unit needs to know about.

You might think that this happiness enough, but my cup is going to go way past overflowing towards, "Thar she blows." It might be a good idea for you to be sitting down before you read this next bit. All comfy? Okay, then.

The end of this month I will have unlimited access to the tractor the spousal unit's brother uses in his landscaping business.

Yes, the brother-in-law is heading off on vacation for three weeks and he is leaving the tractor with us for safe keeping. It has four wheel drive. It has a front end loader. I will be able to move really big rocks and unspeakable amounts of dirt to my heart's content.

Best Toy Ever.

I could even dig a pond with this thing, although when I mentioned that the spousal unit said that if he came home and found a new pond he would consider that automatic grounds for divorce. Oh yes, the man can be alarmingly petty sometimes and completely lacking in vision. That said, I love him despite his faults.

Good thing I'm so easy to live with, eh?

--Marn

Mileage on the Marnometer: 799.92 miles. Half way there. Oh, man, please let this be over