Five years ago Guy set the romantic bar rather high when he sent me a bunch of tropical flowers from the Northern Territory.
He was working at Humpty Doo for 12 months doing sustainable agriculture work, and I was living in my little house in Ulverstone getting up early to present the ABC's Rural Report.
As I relaxed in the bath on Valentine's Day 2009, I was annoyed by knocking on the back door. Very little will get me out of the bath once I'm in, so I ignored it.
The knocking continued. I assumed it was the children down the street, so I called out for them to "go away!". Eventually they gave up, and left me alone.
Later that night I opened the back door to go out to the veggie patch and there was a longish white box on the mat.
When I opened the box it was one of those wonderful moments where, even though you're alone, you grin rather stupidly and make happy exclamations.
There were heliconias, bee hive gingers, birds of paradise - all so bright and almost fake-looking. They were nothing like the salvias and daisies in my yard.
I know you're thinking about the flower miles and how a card would have been sufficient - but just let me enjoy this short moment of reminiscing.
My romantic contribution had been to make a batch of gingerbread biscuits, cut in hearts, and a card with a pumpkin on it. I was really worried the tropical heat would cause the biscuits to go mouldy, so when I asked Guy if he'd collected the office mail that day I had to encourage him rather strongly to make a special trip to town.
Five Valentine's days on, and surprises come in different forms.
"Get off the phone, Guy," I called inside this morning. "I've got a surprise, come and look!"
"Have we got guinea fowl babies?"
"No..."
"Have the Aylesbury ducklings come out?"
"No..."
We were heading for the orchard.
"Peaches!"
A tree that we thought the possums had destroyed is completely covered in beautiful downy, white-skinned peaches.
They're ripe and drippy and I can smell their fragrance as I stick my head between the branches to take photos.
So today we slurped and chewed in the orchard: dirty boots, farm clothes and messy hair, and ate the first fruit from the trees we planted together when we moved to Mount Gnomon.
That's what I call romance.
