Honey Harvest

 We’ve watched them for a year. Carrying pollen from the flowers - wobbly as they land on the hive heavy with yellow powder. We watched them cover their entrance at night to protect their queen and their work. We’ve checked on them and marveled at their swift comb creations. We’ve added space for them to build and expand. We’ve been stung. We’ve danced with them at the pool. That’s where they like to come for an afternoon drink.

Our dear friend Bobby, master bee keeper, has educated George and the children and eased our concerns and smiled at the progress and located the queen when we were sure she’d taken off.

The smell grew stronger and stronger. When the breeze blew, the smell of honey drifted through the yard.

 Honey Harvest. George and the children did it. I took a trip to see my family with Hannah and when I came back, they had six gallons and saved the last so I could see how it worked. It is beautiful and tedious and complicated and full of steps and drains and nozzles.  But this liquid gold rolls into the buckets and into the jars and smells like Canaan and feels rich and tastes that too.

Sticky chairs and lips and legs and faces and hair. Bees flying around trying to claim back some of their honey. Rain coming down cooling the air, I watch George Wilder and Amelia and George work like pros to bring in the last. They collected seven gallons of delicious honey from our bees.


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