I was touched by the thought and work Scott put into my birthday gift, he bought me two blueberry bushes and insisted in digging the bed and planting them himself. I joked that I would rather have a new camera than some plants, but he just laughed and shrugged.

We are happy to have two new blueberry  bushes and Scott labored in the hot sun for awhile to get them ready for planting, he takes these things very seriously. He dug a wide bed (he didn’t want the plant to compete with grass; he made sure it was neat and straight, he checked the soil and laboriously turned it over,  and lectured me for awhile about their needs and care, and about watering and mulch.) Maria will care for them, I said, and I will water them.

She was at lunch with the Good Witches when he came, she roared into the driveway, got into her boots and started digging.

Afterwards, I invited Scott into the farmhouse for some watermelon and cold water.  We talked for an hour, a rare thing in our busy lives. I thought about how this friendship has endured and grown, when so many in my life has not, and I wondered why that was so.

First, I thought we are honest with one another. We have no fear of speaking the truth, even when we know the other won’t like it, or perhaps, accept it. I can say anything to Scott and he can say anything to me.

Secondly, there is acceptance. Scott accepts me, he told me someone working in a store in town had mentioned that I got his name wrong, and I said I get everybody’s name wrong, the person complaining was probably a jerk. When I saw this person next, I would make sure to mispronounce his name.

Scott, who never says a bad word about anybody laughed, and said, Jon this is why I love you. I smiled at that, because this is perhaps why so many people do not love me.

I think you have to like a friend for it to work. If you don’t, that will always come out.

Then, there is trust. When I came  home from Open Heart Surgery, Scott drove up to the farm every day at lunch – his busy time at the cafe – to bring me food, which he brought and left inside the kitchen. I never asked him to do this, he never mentioned it to, he brought me food every day until I told him I could drive and then he stopped.

No one has ever done a thing like this for me.

There is respect. We both work hard, are creative, obsessive, fanatically committed to our work, which we do just about every day, all day. We have little time for friendship, yet we always managed to find time for one another. I respect the way he lives his life, I believe he respects the way I live mine.

And understanding. Scott and I both began our lives in the same way, in a murky cloud of abuse, neglect and conflict. We both have lived past that, we do not let it define us, we do not define ourselves in that way. But we are also a tribe, and we know and understand one another when we meet. We share a common experience that is binding.

When we are in trouble, we talk to one another, we listen to one another. We do not try to run the other’s life.

And also, perhaps finally, for now (is love.) I love Scott, his unfailingly generous spirit, his passion for creativity, his openness and passion for change and experience.

Scott, like me, wants to do everything right. All the time.

It is not possible, but he never stops trying.

I think those are some of the elements that make our friendship work, I am not sure there is anyone else in the world who would come to my house with a birthday gift he had to spent an hour digging in the hot sun. It is almost as good as a camera. Much love, Scott.