Dear Mister Ed

Well we finely got some peace and qwiet back on the island.

The big toys that was rippin’ up evrythink in site fer the past month went back to the main land at first lite today.

There ain’t a blade of grass left, but the yards crammed with garden patches atwixt and atop each another, and curvey walls of rock holdin’ it all in place.

Theres bird baths and benches and water falls and fish ponds. I blush to tell you theres even statues of bare-nakid boys releavin’ themselfs in little pools with nary a hint of shame.

But try as I mite, I cant find a single plant growin’ anywheres. The Widdow says don’t worry, come spring there’ll be flours of evry culler the Lord invented and then some.

Now one thing I learnt so far in life is, you cant tell from day to day what a day can bring. So when The Widdow layed on a feed fer the workers last nite, I was none too prepared fer what come next.

We was tuckin’ into desert and a shot of somethink sweet, when The Widdow stands up with a glass in hand and tells the folks to pipe down a spell.

“Fer those of you that dont know, my names Evangaline” she says. “But you can call me Eva. Rite now, I wud like to propose…”

Jest when I figgered she was fixin’ to toast the garden crew fer there exempillary work, the crafty old gal pulls a switcharoo.

“I wud like to propose” she says with a grin “to this hansom lunk I call The Skipper. Whaddya say, Walter Doherty, are you ready to be made an honnest man, or not?”

Nachurally the room goes nuts, whilst poor old Walt turns 16 shades of purpul one after the nother. When he finely gets to his feet, its so qwiet you can hear the clock tick two rooms away.

Walt looks at the workers. He looks at me. He takes a big gulp of air, all nervy and shy like hes set to make the biggest speach of his life.

Then he looks at The Widdow and says “I reckon.”

Now when a batchelor gets landed at the age of 84 and theres more years on the happy cupple than Confederashun, folks get thinkin’ its time fer a party. And by golly did’nt we have a grand, grand time?

When the barje left, haff the crew was sound asleep and the rest jest carried ’em on board, sleepin’ bags and all.

At lunch Eva says to leave the arrangin’ up to her, but best we have our pass ports close to hand ‘cos shes got a noshun or two in mind.

Y’know, I ain’t much fer water works, but when Unkle Walt took me aside jest now and ast me to stand as second best man, I admit my eyebulbs got a tad bit damp.

Thats it fer now Darrol, time to find a hanky.

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