The incessant Florida climate persists. I say this weather is for the birds. When I think of Florida, I think of several long-ago trips to visit that fair state. The landscape along the Sunshine State Parkway seemed a little barren to me – a palm tree here and there, but mostly tall trees from which Spanish moss dangled from every limb, and on those branches devoid of moss, many egrets perched, almost motionless. I also think of flamingos, who should be officially listed as Florida’s state bird. The very name “flamingo” brings a snicker to most people, who associate these gangly, yet graceful, hot pink birds with the kitschy yard ornaments, those plastic flamingos strutting around the yard on metal stakes, er … legs. My mom threatened to order “Flamingos by the Yard” for me when I turned 50 years old. This gag gift is by a company where someone sneaks over to your house in the middle of the night and places one flamingo to mark each year of your life on the front lawn, then leaves a huge sign wishing you happy birthday. I finally convinced her not to do it (thankfully).

I felt like I was living in Florida when I took my walk today – hot and steamy. I spied a planters box where a pair of pink plastic flamingos arose out of the cannas. At first glance, I thought it was part of the actual plant, but their bright pink color gave them away. The flamingos were gazing at one other as if deep in conversation, their long necks craned in a graceful “S”. I’m always looking at yard art during my walks. I’ve often seen artfully done metal flamingos gracing a garden; their feathers seem almost three dimensional and the coloring is more of a sedate pinkish-gray. They enhance the garden, but no … not hot pink plastic flamingos which are not a good look.

Another flashback is coming. I used to be the proud owner of an identical set of plastic flamingos a long time ago. I’ve spoken fondly before about my former neighbor Jim, who was like a father to me. He loved coming over to help in the garden, then when all his friends and family came to visit him, he’d lean over the fence and show them “our” yard. One day I came home from work to find Jim had stuck two hot pink flamingos into my front garden bed. I had just finished my planting over Memorial Day weekend and the garden was looking just the way I liked it, i.e. no room for improvement. I had my usual country theme going – my pink and white flower combos, my favorite colonial blue knick-knacks and baskets and my perpetual “deer family” scattered around the front and back gardens. A pair of kitschy hot pink plastic flamingos with steel stakes stuck in my front garden simply was not going to do! What would I say? I wouldn’t hurt his feelings for the world. I didn’t have time to figure out just how to express my thanks, because as I rounded the side of the house, Jim came running over and in his Southern drawl said: “Girl: did you see your gift I got you from when were in Florida? I was waiting for you to get everything finished in your yard before I brought them over for you. Do you like them?” Gulp …what was I to say? Quickly, I crossed my fingers behind my back and told him they were absolutely beautiful; in fact, much too beautiful to put in the front yard because someone surely would steal them, or damage them, or what if they blew away down the street? I was breathless by the time I finished the possibilities and also my gratitude for the unexpected gift. I then assured him I would find a nice place in the backyard near my bright Pink Bonica Shrub Roses where they would be more striking and his special gift would be less likely to get damaged or stolen. He warmed up to that idea and said he would get them right away and pick a place to stake them in the rose garden. Whew, that was a lot easier than I thought.

The flamingos “lived” in the backyard for years, until they finally faded from the sun and looked pale pink, almost white. About the time I was thinking I could relegate them (finally) to the garage, Jim saw their putrid pale coloring and offered to paint them for me. Hmmmmmm. Again, I did not want to hurt his feelings so I asked if I could think on it and perhaps next year? I never had to worry again because soon thereafter he and his family moved to Monroe, and eventually to Roscommon, and I never saw him again. Well, a little white lie (or maybe in this case a pink lie) never hurt anyone.