The father of my three children isn’t a gardener. Or rather, he’s more a veggie guy than a flower guy – or would be, if we still had our allotment (a long, doleful tale; don’t get me started). However, he’s a really great guy to have about the garden.

This is the fella who built our deck, site of many happy times. Then, before we added on the Queen Elizabeth Wing for (surprise!) Child Number 3, he’s the one who took the deck apart again.

He also built the cedar shed our carpenter bees love, laying the roof shingle by artistically arranged cedar shingle. When our kids clamoured for a tree house, he’s the guy who engineered and constructed the shed’s second story, home to many seasons of neighbourhood games.

When the kids vacated the playhouse and the raccoons moved in, claiming the shed roof for their local latrine, he applied his considerable ingenuity to foiling them. Or trying to foil them.

Later, when it was clear that the raccoons were winning, he’s the guy with the reciprocating saw who dismantled the playhouse, donned haz-mat attire to de-poopify the roof, disposed of the toxic waste, and replaced it all with “wipe clean with a damp sponge” galvanized roofing.

When it comes to heavy lifting, Mr. Willingandable is there to move shrubs or chop roots. If not with musclepower, then with horsepower. He once removed a mock orange for me by tying it to the bumper of our car. Hey, it worked a treat!

What’s more, he’s the guy with patience. For gardening detours and travails (and perhaps the occasional expenditure).

He also plays a pretty mean guitar.

So this is to my honey: not only a good guy to have in the garden, but the only guy I can imagine in my life.

Thanks for the kids, by the way. That was fun. Happy Father’s Day.