The Island

When we walk into my parent’s back door in South Georgia, I can smell the clean and I can see the clean.  There is no evidence of kids or company, just a tidy, sparkling clean home.  We change all that within minutes of walking through the door and the kitchen always pulls the most weight when it comes to handling our stuff.




As I sat at the end of the island Friday morning after the kids had breakfast, I looked down the island thinking it had looked much different the night before.  That morning, Julia had already been busy cutting flowers from the yard.  I had left my empty Starbucks cup there from the day before coming from the airport.  The container of sugar came out of the open cabinet in the background that evidently I didn’t close after I fixed morning coffee.  The griddle was out because Mom knew she would use it every morning of our visit making “Nanna bacon” ~ a.k.a. bacon {not turkey bacon}.  And the thing you see in the cake keeper?  It’s pure Momma goodness, her whipping cream poundcake. Wait a minute.  Let me capitalize that~ Whipping Cream Poundcake.  The recipe calls for 2 sticks of butter, 6 eggs and of course, whipping cream.  It’s divine and the only way to improve on it is to spread a slice with butter {as if there isn’t enough in it} and pop it in the toaster.  That’s exactly what I had for lunch yesterday and it was my breakfast many mornings growing up.  Right in front of me were these things which Brighton found in my brother Blake’s room.  The Dark Side’s Tie Fighter model which he used 3 rolls of tape to put together, unsuccessfully, and a Luke Skywalker doll he excavated from somewhere.  And that was just Friday morning.  We’d barely been there 12 hours.



This island works hard all the time...but overtime when we come around.

I know my parents wouldn’t have it any other way.