海角大神

I聽was sitting in an airport when I overheard a woman seated behind me say, 鈥淲hat鈥檚 the best gift you ever got?鈥澛�

I closed the magazine I鈥檇 paid too much for and listened for an answer.聽

鈥淵ou mean like, best birthday present?鈥� a young man asked.

鈥淕ift, present, whatever you want to call it,鈥� she said. 鈥淵eah.鈥澛�

There鈥檚 an art to killing time in an airport. It requires resourcefulness, and for me that includes eavesdropping. I鈥檇 much rather listen in on strangers than read about celebrity workout routines.

鈥淲ell,鈥� the young man said. 鈥淧robably the gold coin I got for graduation. It鈥檚 worth a lot.鈥� There was a pause. He didn鈥檛 reciprocate, didn鈥檛 return the question, as I would have, with a question about her 鈥渂est gift.鈥澛�

Fighting off the urge to turn around and glare at him, or maybe ask her myself, I tossed my magazine onto a neighboring chair and thought about the question. What鈥檚 the best gift I ever got? Good health aside, when it comes to material objects, for me the answer is easy.

It was a high school graduation present, gift-wrapped and hand-颅delivered by my grandfather.聽

In case you鈥檝e ever wondered, no amount of gift wrap can obscure the distinct shape of this particular object, a garden implement.聽

鈥淐ongratulations,鈥� he said.聽

I tore open the paper. 鈥淲ow,鈥� I said. 鈥淎 shovel. Thank you.鈥�

鈥淚t鈥檚 a spade,鈥� he said, gently but firmly. From that moment on I鈥檝e known there was a difference. He put his hand out for a shake. 鈥淪tay close to the land. Don鈥檛 be afraid to dig in and get a little dirt on you.鈥�

鈥淥h, I won鈥檛,鈥� I said. 鈥淚 love to work in the yard. I love dirt!鈥� It was true, but I laughed at how it sounded. He didn鈥檛.

That fall, I went off to college, and that shiny new green-handled spade with the silver blade hung untouched on the wall in my parents鈥� garage. A few years later, I got an office job. My girlfriend became my wife. Eventually we moved into a house of our own, and that graduation spade made its way from my folks鈥� garage into my own. I dug gardens, planted trees and roses and bushes, the usual stuff. The spade was nothing but a tool. I was just glad to have it. Glad I didn鈥檛 have to buy one.聽

The years rolled by. The seasons came and went. So did jobs, houses, our two kids. The wife stayed. The spade, too. It鈥檚 lost some of its color (the spade, not the wife). I鈥檝e added some gray.

Now, 40-plus years after I unwrapped that gift, I still dig hard into the earth, more often than ever, chopping into roots, jabbing, stabbing, and cutting clods with it. It鈥檚 more than a trusted workout partner. It鈥檚 a reminder of my family, one proudly rooted in agriculture. If I鈥檇 gotten a gold coin instead, it鈥檇 be locked up in a safe-deposit box or long since cashed in and spent. But a useful tool with a memorable message about staying close to the earth? Priceless.

A few months from now my daughter will finish graduate school, and she already has a job waiting in another city. She鈥檚 knowledge-rich but cash-poor, and though she鈥檚 expecting nothing from me, I have something valuable to give her before she moves away.聽

It鈥檒l be wrapped, of course, and if she opens it and says, 鈥淲ow. A shovel,鈥� I鈥檒l be ready with a few words of earthy wisdom. They鈥檒l be worth their weight in gold.聽