The title could really say it all, but I’m not about to let it do so.

For ten years, I’ve been married to a wonderful woman.

I’ve learned a lot from her about strength, integrity, determination and self-realization. She tells me she’s learned a lot from me about patience and compassion.

We’re still learning, too.

We spent the actual anniversary in our humble garden, in the cold and rain, bringing in the final fruits before the frost. We spent the next four hours in the kitchen stringing peppers, making herb butters and pestos, and calling friends and family to see if they could share in the bounty we had to offer. We spent the evening in our favorite restaurant, talking openly about where we are, where we want to be, and what we can do to bring ourselves even closer together.

We’ve had more ups than downs, more good days than bad days, and far more joy than sorrow in our time together.

This morning she’s at the farmer’s market, getting garlic and other goods we haven’t grown this year; getting ready for us to make a good harvest meal for the next two days. I’m in the studio, reflecting on the marriage, thinking about what she means to me and I to her, and I don’t have that much to say that hasn’t been said before for thousands of years between thousands of people:

I love you, L. Very much.