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Chile leprechaun identified

The chile man secretly dropped off a bag of hot chile peppers for me our first summer in Redding. He told the receptionist he knew I was from New Mexico, where we eat chile at every meal, including breakfast. Especially breakfast. He said he thought I might be missing my chile.
I was.
He didn't leave a name or number, and he didn't ask for anything back. I had no way to return them, and no one else had any interest in them, so I roasted, peeled and ate them, and they were good. They scalded my tongue and made my eyebrows sweat.
Since then, every once in a while, a bag of fresh chile has appeared on my desk. It's like the chile leprechaun was here. The receptionist managed to get a name out of him, just "Charlie," and that he grows many kinds of produce on a nearby farm to the south.
Last summer, I never got a visit from Charlie. I was worried. I assumed he moved away or fell on hard times, or maybe even died.
But today, Charlie the chile leprechaun reappeared, looking robust and sunny and hanging around long enough for me to say thanks and get his full name. Last year the crop was a bust, he said, nothing to bring by, not worth sharing.
This year is a different story, and I have a fix of fresh green chiles on my desk.
My mouth is already watering.
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