Here's what happened.

David Earl doesn't do yard work. I've never seen him cut grass or trim hedges. Yard work is something others do. In the past, David Earl always hired a couple of school kids to cut his yard and keep the weeds under control. One summer, he hired an Ole Miss running back to cut his yard and keep the flowerbeds. The NCAA doesn't need to know about that little job and the cash money David Earl paid that kid.

On the other hand, his wife, darling little Becky Beth, loves a well-kept yard. She belongs to the garden club and the azalea society. Once a week or so, the club members get dressed and meet at someone's house. They drink tea and walk through the garden, admiring the plants and shrubs.

Becky Beth has to have a beautiful yard. Lots of azaleas, roses, dogwoods and at least two sweet magnolia trees shading a corner near the house. Becky Beth can't tolerate a single weed anywhere on the place.

I think because she lives with David Earl, she's got a right to demand a near perfect yard.

Get the picture? David Earl hates yard work. Becky Beth wants the "yard of the month" sign as a permanent fixture.

That means David Earl is always looking for a good yard man. He's got his eye out for someone who will keep Becky Beth's yard in perfect shape. That makes Becky Beth happy, and when Becky Beth is happy, everybody's happy. Especially David Earl.

Like I said, about two weeks ago, David Earl was over in Jackson, riding around some high dollar, expensive neighborhood.

Now, forgive me, but this is the story and it happened in Mississippi. David Earl sees this middle-aged black man, dressed in faded blue overalls, down on his hands and knees. The man was working in a flowerbed in front of one of those half-million dollar houses.

David Earl goes around the block. He's thinking. He pulls up next to the curb in front of the house. David Earl doesn't even get out of his truck. He rolls the window down and shouts.

"Hey, fellow! Did you do all the yard work here in this yard?" He's waving both hands and pointing to the flower beds, the lawn, the trimmed edges.

The man gets up from his knees and takes a step toward David Earl's truck. "Yes, sir, I work out here in the yard every chance I get."

"Well, I tell you what. I live about 30 miles from here. If you want to make some good money, I'll pay you extra to come over to my house and work about once a month, maybe more in the summer."

"Thank you, sir, but I'd rather work here. I don't think I'd have time to do much else.”

David Earl doesn't like for people to reject his offers.

"Come on, think about it. Whatever you're making now, I'll double it. I pay cash, no checks, no taxes, pure cash in your hand. What do you think about that?"

"I don't think you'll pay me double what I'm making here in Jackson."

Now this upset David Earl. He's also not the type to be put down and told he can't afford something -- especially something that would make Miss Becky Beth a happy person.

David Earl got out of his truck, walked over to the man and said, "I tell you what, tell me how much it's gonna take and I'll pay it."

The man stood a little taller and looked directly at David Earl. "Sir, I charge about $2500 an hour for my work."

That stunned David Earl. He was speechless. He didn't know if he needed to take a step back or just laugh. After a moment, he cocked his head to the left and stumbled over what he was trying to say next.

The gardener, sensing the confusion, reached into his shirt pocket, pulled out a card and handed it to David Earl.

"This may explain things," he said, smiling.

The card read, Dr. Charles Edward Smithson, Department Head, Neurosurgery.

"You a doctor?" David Earl finally asked.

"Brain surgeon."

David Earl stood there, still speechless. Dr. Smithson explained how gardening was his escape, especially after a long day digging in people's brains.