Father and Son

-Posted by Isaac

It’s been a week of messing around with wood.

The fence building continues, and when the weather finally turned, we made lots of entrance reducers for bee pallets.

Let me tell you, a little warmth sure makes things more enjoyable.

On hump day we had the week’s most momentous event.

My Baby turned five on March 4th (Talk about a fitting date.) And two days later, Mason turned 11. Cakes were made, compliments of our lovely and multitalented Katie in the honey house.

It’s extremely easy to find great pics of Eden. My Baby can ham it up.

She’s gregarious and lovable. A strong personality, a small body, a big smile. Pictures come naturally. Especially if you capture one baby with another. You’ve got a winner.

But Mason, our oldest, is quite the opposite. Introverted and quiet, broody, somewhat awkward, a weird sense of humor, a cool, standoffish demeanor. Not unpleasant, but definitely not magnetic.

He’s got very little interest in baby animals, or the world beyond, and absolutely zero interest in what his dad does. This could change of course, but for now, he prefers to live in his own world.

He reminds me of the 11-year-old me.

“Smile Mason… it makes you feel good!”

Ok. I’ll assume you’re smiling…

Every Tuesday and Thursday I drop him off at Musical Mustangs, a hour before school. It’s always a very quiet ride. I have a lot to say, and usually pummel him with questions for the first minute or two. Then I give up, and feeling frustrated, turn on the NPR news… might as well overdose with frustration.

Mason wants to arrive ten minutes early so he can read a book.

He’s a big reader. Of Captain Underpants.

Here he is getting all psyched up about his big game on Saturday—

I’ve had the ‘joy’ of assistant coaching his basketball team for two years in a row. It’s almost comical how little he cares about the sport… and how good he is. He can easily hang with the other kids when he decides to. It’s just that the deciding to try, to be normal, is somewhat of an intermittent thing.

Much like Melville’s Bartleby, the mantra of his life seems to be, “I would prefer not to.”

He ignores people. He’s unaware. And he simply refuses to suffer fools gladly. I love him so much. Like I said, I see so much of me in him. I think about my own teens and twenties and I realize he’s coming up on a tough couple of hard-knock decades. At 11, the kid years start to fade away. If you want to make it a smoother ride, you’ve got to learn to fake it. To be agreeable. You’ve got to take some social cues. Nod and pretend to listen to a coach. Smile and say hello to a classmate. Look an adult in the eyes. Learn how to hold a fork… There are so many things! I’ve tried, believe me. It seems to fall on deaf ears. Or am I one of the fools he refuses to suffer gladly?

I was thinking about all this, and an old Cat Stevens song came to mind.

There are two lines in that song that really hit home. Well, maybe three. I had to laugh about the “Find a girl, settle down…” Mason, following my own trajectory, won’t even know what a girl is until he’s in his twenties. He’ll then go through about a decade of awkward heartache until someone takes pity on him. Then maybe he’ll settle down, like his old man.

The obvious line was, “How can I try to explain, when I do, he turns away again.” I feel this almost daily with my son. And I wonder if it was the same with my own father? My dad took took to calling me ‘the professor’, due to my hair-brained, bookwormish and spacey way of going about things. I was never sure of what to think of that. Is it a compliment? Or an insult? I never asked, I ignored it. Like the song says, I turned away.

Another line that got me was, “You will still be here tomorrow, but your dreams may not.” What exactly Cat Stevens was getting at, I don’t know. But I took it as… Hey buddy, you better adjust, you better learn to fake it, or your future opportunities will tend to limit themselves. I know this all too well. Like me, it’s looking like Mason will have a hard time of it.

Society welcomes the well-adjusted. And even those born somewhat ill-suited to the world seem to learn to fake it. They adjust. The teachers, the preachers, the lawyers, doctors, nurses, dentists, sales people, bartenders, barbers, mechanics, etc.. They all have to smile and be nice. They all put up with fools. Some even relish it— look how many people spend their day on Facebook.

It makes me sad and happy at the same time. Thinking about Mason. I both worry and rejoice. He’s a little me! Instead of winking, I tend to sigh and say, ‘He’s a chip off the old block.’ Then I laugh. I love it!

I probably worry too much. He’ll find his way. Here he is just a few days ago— soloing at the Musical Mustangs concert!

Talent and brains and enormous potential hide under that thick, awkward shell. And, you never know, maybe he won’t even need to learn to fake it. He may just wind up a beekeeper.

With a little help from my friends

-Posted by Isaac

Lend me your ears and I’ll sing you a song…

A strange man with a strange instrument. What a market treat! I think he must’ve tired of my questions because he finally just grabbed a crate, sat down and said, “Well… let me show you…”

He entertained us for the next half an hour. And he probably helped the honey sales. You just never know who’ll come along to get you through.

And that’s what this post is about—the ones helping me to stomach this last bitter stretch of winter. I think I’d be lost without them. Because let me tell you, it’s not easy to wake up to snow on March 1st… especially after the maples have bloomed and we’ve had three beautiful days of t-shirt weather.

I looked outside, felt disgusted, looked at the weather app on my phone, felt even more disgusted. More snow on Sunday, a high of 17 on Tuesday!

But I’ve learned something… it’s ok to start disgusted. In fact, I do all the time. (Especially if I check my news feed.)

The day can turn around. You can turn things around! And your friends can help.

If winter isn’t going to relinquish, we’d better go after more firewood. Gavin helped me with a couple loads this week.

Just look at that hustle!

Bridger, my Dapper Dan man, helped me by just being himself.

And Maizy brought her little buddy out for a visit as I plugged away on the new fence.

It’s nice to be reminded of why I’m spending all this time and money.

And of course, speaking of time and money, we’ve got the bees to worry about.

My many many friends. My labor of love. They’re hanging on, they’re growing and brooding up, and they’re hungry!

Eden helped me finish the second round of feeding.

She’s fearless. She’s determined.

Not only the bees… she helps me to hang on.

We plowed through the second pallet of feed, and had to order another.
And look who showed up to start on that third pallet— long lost Seth!

Notice he wore his military fatigues to remind us… he still belongs to Uncle Sam. But it sure was nice to visit. I never tire of Seth’s special brand of introspective philosophy.

We knocked out 11 yards in just a few hours. Amazing what you can accomplish with good help. I begged him to stay another day, but just like the Seth of old, he had girls and adventures to attend to.

And now he’s back overseas. Conquering Italy this spring.

Having previously conquered France last fall.

Going into winter, looking at the bees and their honey stores, I was thinking that it would only be a two pallet winter. But I was wrong, wasn’t I? They ate a little more than expected. A welcome expense. At least it’s not the six pallet winter we had a few years back. Here’s a sensible little rhyme for you penny pinching March beekeepers: Better fed than dead.

It’s March. And it’s still cold. But the bees are looking great and the end is in sight. Hard to believe, but in less than a month we’ll be making our first splits.

Sometime within the next six weeks I’ll be standing out there in a t-shirt. Some gorgeous purple evening, I’ll look out over a field of nucs.

I’ll crack a beer, maybe fire up the grill, soak up the sweet scent of spring grass, watch the deadnettle, the dandelions, the daffodils, listen to baby chicks and baby ducks, think about baby bees and Easter eggs…

…and I’ll give the memory of this (expletive, #%&#, expletive) winter the good cussing it deserves.

We’ve made it, my friends! We’ve made it!

Thanks for all the help!

The greatest post that never was

-Posted by Isaac

Boy, did I have a good one for you this week.

First I was going to get you laughing at that goofy picture of Bridger trying to ride a goat.

You see, we’ve been building a lot of fence lately. The idea being, maybe someday we’ll have something in here besides goats. Maybe something a little bigger to ride.

When you’re building a fence, specifically on the most miserable few days of the year, digging postholes one after another after another all day long, there’s little to do but think. The machine was too loud to listen to podcasts. The job itself, too simple to mandate attention.. why not plan out a great blog post?

I mean, I’ve got all these thoughts hammering around.

Just look at that desolate sky, that impoverished grass.

Remind you of anything? A famous Andrew Wyeth maybe?

Sure, I’ve replaced Christina with a Bobcat skid steer loader, but don’t tell me that’s not art.

So the idea was to artfully connect my posthole digging horizons to my feelings about Christina’s World, then metaphorically associate those ominous thoughts with current events. (All after starting with goofy Bridger riding the goat.) I wanted to start you out laughing and then soon have you crying.

The next phase was designed to piss you off.

This week’s big current event was the good people of New York sending mighty Amazon packing.

Hey Bezos, take your 25,000 jobs and shove it!

Which I thought was awesome, but it sure pissed off a lot of people. And maybe I’m wrong, but I’m assuming that you’re part of that pissed off throng. I’ve talked to a few angry people this week. How dare those New Yorkers! Don’t know what’s good for them…

Am I completely alone on this? The one and only midwestern voice of dissent? Is it really ok for a company to skirt three billion dollars in taxes?? How dare those New Yorkers?…How dare they what? Expect to be able to get to work??

(No, you’re right… I don’t know all the details… but I still think it’s awesome. Definitely a non-bootlicking move.)

So I was planning to rile you by trying to be the lone voice of reason, then maybe bring you back around with some Springsteen.

…asking you to particularly pay attention to those last few lines… and maybe see the great “philanthropy” of Amazon in a different light.

And while I had you wavering, I was going to hit you with a favorite quote from my favorite author/farmer.

While you chewed on all that, I was going to covertly declare myself a Bernie lover.

And really piss you off.

Then switch it up, and say whoa, wait a minute, I’m just kidding! I’m a capitalist! Look at what I do. Besides, I would never align my doctrine with an admitted socialist. Blasphemy!

Having taken you for a ride— laughing, crying, reflective, pensive, pissed, confused, wavering, maybe illuminated…

…but maybe just pissed again— I was going to finish it with the assurance that I’m still a true red blooded American business owner. A capitalist through and through. A good and wholesome capitalist beekeeper still on the home team to the very last drop of honey.

Most likely you’d still be pissed.

And that’s why I decided against it. A blog post like that is not only dangerous, it’s hard work. Not to mention, way over the head of a beekeeper.

Jayne thought my little nap was Instagram worthy. (Little did she know, I fell asleep planning the greatest blog post ever.)

But alas, I awoke, and came to my senses— You, the good, honest, hard working, (and highly intelligent) folks who read this are looking for kids riding goats. Stick with kids riding goats, dummy! It was a good start to a post that would’ve turned into a train wreck.

And oh yeah— bees. Stick with bees!

Thankfully, before I could lay all this on you, Ohio beekeeper Peggy Garnes saved me by sharing a bee article.

I was fortunate enough to hear Bret Adee speak last October. What a great great man… who has been put through the meat grinder.

It’s a short and depressing article if you choose to read it. And here you go… why not another song? You know, to set the mood for reading.

It could have been the greatest post ever. Or, more likely, it could’ve been a jumbled pile of spaghetti. Lucky for you, I’ll just leave you with some unnerving bee world thoughts. And more questions—

Who are those wolves? What are those wolves? Varroa mites? Farm chemicals? Hard luck? Corporations? Governments? The whole system?

How about another quote to finish up. Another from the Great One—

And yet another question— Are we living in Christina’s World?

There's just no substitute for the real thing

-Posted by Isaac

It’s official.

I’m declaring a National Emergency. (For Pickaway County.)

When you’re in central Ohio and you have to wait for low tide to cross the road… I think I’m well within my rights in calling for a National Emergency.

Can you believe this load of crap?! Relentless! The fields have become lakes, and just getting to the bees has become somewhat of a sport.

Eden and I were out feeding the girls yesterday. Here she points out the result of trying to make it to the yards after three inches of rain:

Fun!

So how was your Valentine’s Day? Assuming you didn’t drown, I’m guessing that it was the usual— a lot of show, a lot of pomp and circumstance, a lot of expense… hmmm… was it even worth it? Did you even get lucky??

Don’t tell me. I don’t want to know.

But I’d like to show how you may just better your odds in the future. In this post I’m going to teach you some cheap and easy, sensible, practical, surefire tricks to impress your significant other. And not only that, you’ll learn how to turn some kitchen problems into delightful (and romantic) solutions.

First problem, Dan the Baker.

As you know, Dan makes some wonderful bread. But as you may also know, if you leave it on the table overnight (which we’ve been known to do), you end up with some really hard crust.

Not a problem… the kids will find it the next morning and have their way with it.

The soft middle is oh, so delicious!

This leaves you with a hollowed out loaf which you can then cut into strips and bag up for later.

Another common kitchen problem, especially in the winter: granulated honey.

Raw honey granulates fastest at 54 F. With all the temperature swings this time of year, we often see our honey turn cloudy. Again, not a problem. You probably already know, if you want it to turn back into a clear liquid, simply heat it up.

But here’s another route. The romantic route. Granulated honey makes an excellent dipping sauce.

First, put those kids to bed.

Then pop those sliced Dan the Baker “bread sticks” in the toaster. Arrange them aesthetically on your finest serving platter.

Then take that cloudy, perfect and wonderful raw honey and create some culinary art. One glass is probably enough, but you never know. If things are going well, (wink, wink) you may need a second.

Lastly, and this cannot be overstated, you need to set the mood. Dress to impress. And find something he or she will really love. A good book, a choice Netflix, a favorite band. Something that says, This is you and me babe. This is us… and there’s just no substitute for the real thing!

You’ve pushed all the right buttons tonight, big boy. Good luck.

Almond time

-Posted by Isaac

I can’t help but feel like I’m missing out on something.

If you’re unaware, this is a big time for most of the bees in the country.

Most of the bees. Not most of the beekeepers. Most beekeepers are like me. Still hunkered down for winter, trying to stay warm, trying to encourage their girls to just hang on for another couple months.

It’s only the professionals who undertake this daunting task.

…The amazing task of building hives strong enough for almond pollination. (In February!)

…The complicated and exhaustive work of getting them moved from one far off place to another.

Over a million acres of almonds in California’s Central Valley— that’s a lot of trees. And they all get pollinated by honey bees.

Right now, the blooms are about a week away, almost ready to open. Getting bees placed where they belong is crucial. Therefore, the timing on this entire process is crucial. I’ve been there. It’s the Super Bowl of Beekeeping.

Building the bees up in late fall and winter, negotiating contracts, hauling the bees, finding holding yards, placing the bees, and finally removing the bees from the orchards, finding somewhere else to put them…

It can be dangerous. Sometimes accidents happen.

But overwhelmingly, this great annual migration is highly beneficial to both bees and beekeepers. Almonds kick off the year, but those bees have to go somewhere afterward. Apples, blueberries, cranberries, citrus, forage crops and vine crops are all benefactors. Not to mention the resulting surplus of bees that comes from a pollen flow in February— packages, nucs and queen production timed perfectly for March and April. And then of course is the ocean of honey that results from placing strong bees on the endless clover of the summer northern plains.

Seen through this lens, February almond pollination is awesome.

But I have taken some flack for saying this. For contradicting the notion, held by many, that this big dance exemplifies the worst in commercial agriculture. It’s about big equipment moving tiny insects over thousands of miles, it’s about absolute monocultures, out of place and out of season, it’s an unsustainable industry, 100% reliant on fossil fuels, migrant labor, chemicals, fertilizers, poisons… and all dependent on the volatile world market.

C’mon Isaac, don’t be such a shill. It’s so unnatural!

And to that I’d reply, ‘Well… you’ve got a point… duly noted.’

But don’t blame the beekeepers! They’re just trying to make a living… the heroes in a tragic play. Blame the real culprits! The real villains in this dreadful modern tragedy: people who eat food.

I’ve actually heard people tout the virtuous honey bee, and the honorable beekeeper. They’ll espouse righteously that we owe every third delicious bite to this noble pair. And then, in the very next sentence, they’ll denounce the vulgarities of commercial migratory beekeeping!

Well now, which is it? Heroes or villains?

There seems to be a disconnect…

But enough of this. I’ve given you enough of my ramblings. What’s happening on the Honeyrun front? Well, after that monstrous cold, we had one glorious day of 60 degree sunshine.

And a couple warm cloudy days followed. The bees were able to get out and visit. So many buzzed around blissfully while I worked on the fence.

That’s right. We now have the best looking goat pen in North America.

I hope they appreciate it.

The warmth didn’t last long, did it? I saw that they’re calling it a fool’s spring.

Two solid days of rain, the streams swelled, the ditches spilled over, even our yard became a lake.

And now the cold.

The work has slowed. I spend long cloudy moments staring out from the shelter of the barn.

And I can’t help but think…

Am I missing something?