I’ve wanted to meet John Rieger for some time; he has been a warm and nourishing voice on the phone for a couple of years.

John runs a country feed, nursery, and hardware store in Greenwich, N.Y., called Country Power Products.

He is the good and honest man who sells me the best hay I have ever bought or seen. He makes buying hay fun, and that is a first.

With John, I will never have to worry about having hay or getting hay, and he is honest and fair about prices.

Talking with him is a pleasure. And if every square inch of the hay isn’t green and fresh, the bale will be replaced instantly. But honestly, that has never happened.

A deal is a deal with him, even on the phone. You can take it to the bank.

Today, Maria and I  jumped the gun on Valentine’s day. (And yes, I know it isn’t Valentine’s Day yet, but we love each other every day, and why not?)

I took her out for breakfast and a pedicure, and on the way home, she decided to pull over and buy me some flowers, a surprise.

I never imagined we would end up meeting John.

I had the same idea about flowers as she did.

I didn’t realize until we pulled into the driveway – I wasn’t sure what she was doing – that it was John’s place. And that he sold flowers.

When I got in, I asked where John was, and I  saw him in the back of the store working with his daughter Heidi, who has started a beautiful and already popular plant and florist department in the store.

We were delighted to meet one another.

John is the best of the country – honest, open, proud of his work. This is a vanishing breed. Perhaps we both are in different ways.

I realize that I am shy in many ways and don’t meet new people quickly. Meeting John was pure joy.

I ended up buying Maria a succulent, she bought me one, and I bought her the flowers before she could get them for me.

We just traded flowers, a great cap on a lovely day.

John and I hit it off like two long-lost brothers suddenly running into one another. It felt as if I had known him for many years.

While I was there, I placed my hay order – the same as last year (you can’t order hay early enough these days with climate change).

We did it in the old and fading country way, I just asked for the same order as last year, and his associate David will show up with it sometime in September or early October, and John will call me when the hay is all stacked up, and I’ll pay him over the phone with a bank or credit card.

The hay is wonderful. And I never have to think about when or if it is coming.

We talked about our daughters, living in the country, how the best hay is grown, how he has kept Casey – a store manager –  working with him for ten years (a sign he is an excellent boss), and how Heidi comes and goes but seems to be putting down some roots.

We talked about his extensive and diverse store, of which he is also very proud.

I loved how he lit up every time he mentioned his three daughters (Heidi is the only one working in the store) and how proud he was of his store,  which was impressive.

I’d love to get to know him better; I could have sat there all afternoon talking to him. I also know that with men, the odds are long.

When I got home, I e-mailed John suggesting we have lunch. I don’t remember ever doing that.

I hope we do, he is plenty busy and I  can’t remember the last time I invited anyone to lunch who wasn’t Maria.

On the way out, I walked past his cluttered-to-the-roof office, ran out and pulled him out of his truck, and asked if he would come back so I could take his picture.

Sure, he said, we were both laughing all through it.

I think the portrait captured John – informal, cluttered, smiling. I am drawn to men who don’t take themselves seriously. We are, after all, ridiculous.

He couldn’t imagine why I wanted to take his picture. Sweet men are a tiny community.