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Yesterday my son's valedictory speech focused on of the vital link between hard work and happiness, so this morning I went out to the strawberry patch to test out his theory. I'm normally not the one who tends the strawberry patch; in fact, for years the entire family has experienced strawberry-flavored happiness as a result of my daughter's hard work in the garden. She's in Italy right now performing with her college choir, though, so the strawberry patch has been rather neglected. (Come back, little girl! The strawberries need you!)

My task this summer will be to determine whether my love for fresh strawberries can overcome my hatred for slugs. This morning the strawberries won, but it took some hard work: I had to pull some weeds first, and all that squatting and bending sharply reminded me of a few neglected muscle groups. The result, though, was instant happiness. About three quarts' worth, I would estimate.

Now I can report to my son that his speech was correct: there is a connection between hard work and happiness. I'd be happy to go and tell him so right now, but he's out in the garden planting tomatoes, a form of hard work he does not particularly relish. Keep up the hard work, son! Happiness is a fresh tomato!