Joy
by Julie Cadwallader Staub

Who could need more proof than honey—

How the bees with such skill and purpose
enter flower after flower
sing their way home
to create and cap the new honey
just to get through the flowerless winter.

And how the bear with intention and cunning
raids the hive
shovels pawful after pawful into his happy mouth
bats away indignant bees
stumbles off in a stupor of satiation and stickiness.

And how we humans can't resist its viscosity
its taste of clover and wind
its metaphorical power:
don't we yearn for a land of milk and honey?
don't we call our loved ones "honey?"

all because bees just do, over and over again, what they were made to do.

Oh, who could need more proof than honey
to know that our world
was meant to be

and

was meant to be
sweet?

"Joy" by Julie Cadwallader Staub, from Face to Face. DreamSeeker Books, © 2010. 

      Bees and honey......  My dad used to keep bees. There were a few hives left when I was small. One nice summer day, when I was maybe 4 years old, I was tagging along behind my older brothers. It being warm summer I was barefoot, wearing bib overalls without a shirt. The brothers were near the bee  hives where they'd lift the cover of a hive, quickly replace it when the bees responded and move to the next hive. Trailing in their wake I lifted the cover off the first hive to see what they were looking at. The bees, already agitated, quickly swarmed me. The hives were about 100 yards from the house. By the time I reached my mother I was well stung. Fortunately allergy was not an issue then nor since.

      For about 20 years a beekeeper kept bee hives in my pasture. Rent was paid with honey, 12 2 quart jars! That's a lot of honey. Because we couldn't use it all we were able to gift much of it. Anything that allows us to be givers is a gift!

       This is a honey of a day; 80 degrees, sunny, with a nice breeze. Another good day to be on a tractor.

Takk for alt,

Al

PS Saw some late dandelion blooms and bees were on them.