He lives in my back yard, along with two of his chums.

Several years ago, my son-in-law Brad presented me with three garden gnomes and assured me that their job would be to “look after” the yard at night. Far be it from me to complain about such an act of mercy, but the plan has had some glitches.

According to tradition, garden gnomes bring good luck and good harvest to the gardener who invites them in. And they’re supposed to “take care” of the gardens at night. Now, I know those little guys are vertically challenged. I certainly don’t expect them to be climbing up and pruning the tall magnolia tree, but they’re the perfect size for WEEDING. My idea of them “taking care” of the garden means pulling up the chickweed and dandelions after nightfall. Is that too much to ask?

Since they took up residence, I’ve learned a lot more about them and their strange habits. I know for instance, that despite their Viking heritage, they’re quite shy. I’m always finding them hiding out under the dahlias or behind a boxwood shrub. And they enjoy music, especially the musical chimes hung there for their entertainment by my granddaughter Josie.

And they like fairies, too.

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And the same goes for St. Francis, even though he never smiles at them, only at the animals. (I have always suspected that St. Francis thinks the little gnomes are pagan. (But not the fairy, of course. She’s Irish.)

All three of those bearded guys are tolerant of dogs, crows, bees, grasshoppers, and visiting rabbits, but cats they’re suspicious of since we don’t have one. I’ve also learned that they’re terrified of the leaf blower, possibly because I have never properly mastered its operation and my use of it tends to be unpredictable. I think they’re scared of slugs, too (and who wouldn’t be?)

This is the garden shed Brad and my grandsons Bryce and Ford built in the back yard where the gnomes live. Notice the red door. It coordinates nicely with their wearing apparel. Besides beards, all gnomes wear red pointy hats, not because of their politics, but because of their association with fishermen of yore who wore white hats at night onboard ship in order to be seen, and red ones the rest of the time, presumably in an effort to attract mermaids.

I know that most people believe that garden gnomes get busy at night taking care of some of the smaller yard chores, but I have to be perfectly frank. My three gnomes tend to be kind of lazy, and that’s the truth. Guess who did most of the work you’re seeing here? ME, THAT’S WHO.

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I should give credit to the gnomes though. It’s been very easy living with them because they’re self-sufficient and they don’t require any special care or feeding. And the photos you’re seeing here are proof that, yes, they are fulfilling their primary job requirement — to ensure a good harvest for my plants. (Even though our marijuana plants got blight two years in a row. Same with the tomatoes, the only edibles I ever tried to grow.))

Last August, my doctor unkindly suggested that I have perhaps become too “unbalanced” to be tip-toeing through the tulips, and that one more tripping incident may force me to have to permanently abstain from hula-dancing. So no more gardening for a while. It’s been 9 months now. During that time, wouldn’t you think the gnomes would step up their work? But no, now they’re sulking, because I have been forced to bring in some competitors.

My grandchild Corr Linn works for a landscaping company called the People’s Gardening Collective. They have been coming in to deal bravely and effectively with the forest primeval I live in, but I can tell the gnomes are struggling. After all, they’re used to working side-by-side with a fairly harmless, fumbling old lady, not these tall masked marauders who seem to actually know what they’re doing. And what if they don’t like funny looking little creatures in red hats getting in their way? Could somebody get stepped on?

Maybe there’ll be less tension once we move to Susy and Curt’s farm in Enumclaw. I expect all the mini-donkeys will be excited to meet their new neighbors with the pointy red hats. Or not.

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