The icing on the cake.

It’s been 3000+ miles since we last spoke, my friends! I’ve recently returned from a six-day adventure to more equatorial outposts, which (for once) gives me a warranted excuse from these internet posts.

Though parted from (oh!) my garden, there was great consolation in the tropical beauty of St. Croix. Shall I share a few photos? That’ll be worth 3000+ words!

 

 

 

Despite the distraction of these and many more new floral friends, I often found my mind wandering to what was happening on the homefront. My first iris had bloomed the morning of my departure…had any more emerged? Was the new rosebush settling in okay? Had the meadow rue popped open? Was the butterfly bush gaining momentum? Was all the lawn furniture dripping with bird-driven art installations?

Most of all, I realized I was going to miss one of my favorite debutante parties of Spring…the first glimmer of the mountain laurel at the end of my driveway. Mountain laurel’s arrival is unquestionably delicious, primarily because it looks like an enormous bouquet of birthday cake frosting…

 

I knew from years past that these tantalizing “stars of frosting” were fleeting treats.  Alas for 2013, my vacation was ill-timed, and my odds of catching a glimpse were slim. On an island far away from the end of my driveway, I dreamt of pastry bags filled with sweet, pink sugary bliss. I made peace with it. 2014 could be the Year of the Frosting. I’d be okay.

As the vacation zoomed to an end, as vacations always do, my mind began to focus on more practical matters. The lawn was a meadow, of this I was sure. Weeds and errant clover (a story for another time) were sure to be rampant. There’d be even more deadheading than the Queen of Hearts would demand. With marginal success, I tried to fire myself up about the looming labor. “YEAH!(?) IT’LL BE SO MUCH FUN!(?) TOILING ON MY FINAL DAYS OF VACATION IS THE BEST!(?)”

But then I returned, and a miracle had happened.

The lawn was glorious and trim. The edging was crisper than ever. The patio was swept to perfection. There was nary a wilted flower in sight. And in the house’s sparkling-clean interior, one window was suddenly decorated with an adorable set of garden-themed window clings.

Elves?!? Elvis?!? Strangely-conflicted burglars?!? Nay, none of these.

You see, two loving caretakers (who I’ve known since the day I was born) were keeping watch over the bungalow in my absence, and they saw fit to make the end of my vacation as delightful as the start…even if it meant sweating it out in 90 degree temperatures. Thanks to their thoughtfulness, I went from relaxing in paradise to relaxing in my paradise, and nothing could be more splendid.

The lesson? Nice try, mountain laurel, but having amazing parents is the real icing on the cake. Thank you again and again, Momma and Poppa!

And to the rest of you, thank you for reading. Until next time, take care!