Honey... yes, we have a limited supply...

It's unusual for G's bees to make it through these north country winters, but somehow, at least at the moment, one of his hives survived. He's feeding the bees; there are no blooming things for them to forage, and the temps have dipped back into the 30s and 40s for daytime highs. Ah, March. What a tease. The other two hives did not make it, but they are chock full of honey. It's been a good many years since we've had any to process, jar, and sell, but we have a few, and it's a lovely amber glow in little half-pint jars. 

We certainly do not process honey to make any real money on it, but I've already promised out three of the first five jars. Local honey is good for you, especially if you have allergies, and this is the least-processed form: G takes chunks of laden comb, puts it in a hand press, and lets it drip into a bowl. The process reminds me of Keats' "To Autumn," where he, speaking of a "cyder press" says, "with patient look,/Thou watchest the last oozings hours by hours."

While it's unfortunate that the bees didn't survive, their legacy is lovely to look at and taste. Soon enough, the fruit trees will be popping with blooms (I hope), and, God willing we don't have a late killing frost, we'll be inundated with pears, apples, and so on. The bounty is never guaranteed, but we do love it when (and if) we are blessed. 

Isn't that the way all things are? 

C