Sunday, February 6, 2011
My boss found a new supplier for Honey Sticks (a plastic tube filled with a syrupy, flavored goo that the students seem to go for), and while she was at it she ordered up some Honey Bears for the store as well. Turns out that the supplier is about as local as you can get: the beekeeper who was my next door neighbor at the old house.
He was the person who bought our front field the year before last. He immediately stacked bee hives there. Even before that, we used to get his bees up at our house all the time, snuffling into my nasturtiums and the hollyhocks and all the other flowers in our yard. I never minded them. You leave them alone, they leave you alone.
I planted nasturtiums every year because Mom loved them so much, She even loved to eat them. The first year, they all came up a beautiful, dark crimson color that we haven't been able to duplicate since. More recently, we've had a mix of reds and oranges and an exotic yellow with a red starburst on the petals.
I never thought I would be a gardener, and I'm not, really. I hate getting dirty. But I enjoyed planting the nasturtiums every year, and watching them come up. They're such a cheerful plant. They grow so quickly at first that some days you can almost see it happening.
I plan to keep up the tradition at the new house. There are some window boxes in the garage, and small, well-kept plots around two-thirds of the house. I may fill them all with nasturtiums.
I thought about the bees delving into our flowers, and I looked at the Honey Bear, and I thought, Y'know, some of this honey was made from our flowers at the old house.
I don't eat honey, myself, but now I know that I have to buy one of these Honey Bears. It would be a nice thing to look at, and to reflect on the connection. Besides, I plan on having lots of company in the new house, when I can, and maybe some of those folks do eat honey, It would be a conversation point to get out the Honey Bear and tell them where it came from.