Life Writing: Beekeeping

I remember watching Dad walk though Grandma E's field sowing Vetch seed because he read the bees would make good honey off of it.  You see, one of Dad's hobbies was beekeeping.  His hobby became a hazard in our lives when it was time to extract honey.  But, it was also a freedom when we could watch with awe the bees in the observation hive.  

Dad's observation hive was under the Osage Orange tree in the front yard.  This tree is also known by the common name bodark, an altered version of the French "bois d'arc".  We also called it the "horse apple" tree.  This was a dangerous location as the thorns of the tree are painful and the horse apples hurt when they fall on you.  

We normally didn't check in on the bees during the winter as they would be balled up trying to stay warm but spring time was a different story.  Those worker bees would be dancing and gathering nectar while the drones just lazed about.  We could watch through the glass as the workers drew out the honey comb and filled it with pollen or nectar.  Then, they would cap over their food storage.  

There was an added excitement when we were able to spot the queen.  She was slightly larger than the other workers with an extended abdomen.  She stayed busy laying eggs.  If the honey comb cell had an egg in it, it would be capped over so the egg would hatch and develop.  Bees are pretty efficient at keeping things organized.  Rarely would there be brood (developing larvae), pollen, and honey intermixed on a frame.  

Late summer was when we would harvest the honey from the hives.  This was an activity that took place inside and by hand.  Dad, Mom, A, and T all took turns at the extractor.  Yes, I took a turn or two also but not near as many as they did.  The extractor was a large round tub open on the top with wire baskets on the inside and a turn handle.  Dad would go out to the hive, smoke most of the bees away from the frame, place it in a temporary box and, when the box was full, bring it in the house.  Once in the house, Mom or Dad would cut the caps (which served as a tasty treat) off the honey and place a frame in one of the two baskets of the extractor.  Then, the crank would be turned which caused the wire baskets to go round and round.  As the baskets went faster and faster, the honey would be slung out of the frames and collect in the holding tank.  Mom would then fill the jars from the holding tank.  

It was beautiful sight to see the golden honey in the jar with light glistening off of it.  Some years we would work a booth at the County fair selling the honey.  Though, it was for our own use most of the time.  You see, we didn’t buy much sugar and honey sure does give Kool Aid a unique taste.    Most of the time I was okay with this hobby, it was only when an angry bee jumped on a hand, arm, or face and stung me that I really didn’t like it. 

Trust

Have you ever considered just how trusting we really are?  I've heard people say and have even said myself, "I just can't trust him/her/them."  Yet, we drive to work, school or play each day trusting that the other people on the road know the rules, are following the rules, have good vehicles, and are paying attention to what's going on around them.  We trust that the person in the other car will keep that car in their lane.  We trust that the other person will not run into the back of our car.

Oh, I know that trust is sometimes broken.  But in reality, we trust in big ways.  Most of us trust that our co-workers won't bring a gun to the office and go on a rampage.  Most of us trust that our homes will still be pretty much in the same shape when we get home as when we left it. Most of us trust that a foreign country won't invade us.  Most of us trust that today will be.  

So, I am amazed with the amount of trust floating around out there that people don't trust God.  Even myself, I think I know so much more than I really do.  I think I've got this life thing all figured out.  I trust myself.  And, wow, that is the wrong thing to trust.  God is faithful.  He is just.  He is honest.  He is.  And, He is always those things.  Now, me, I'm not always those things.  I don't always play fair.  I've told lies.  I'm not always faithful in doing what I've committed to do.  I'm not always trustworthy.  God is.  If I can trust all those people driving around, surely I can trust God.

(Father God, help me to trust You in all things.  You alone are completely faithful and trustworthy.  Thank you for the examples of trust that are evident when I look.  In the name of Jesus I pray, Amen.)

Thoughts of My Father

I've been thinking about my father a lot in the past few months. Since his passing in September 2006, I've often thought of him and missed him yet there seems to be something different about these thoughts. In some ways, I did not know my father well. I knew him only as my father. He was a very private man. Dad did not waste his words. He preferred spending time in the woods over spending time in the city. He provided for his family. He protected us. It is my shame that I never got to know him as a person. I hunger for that knowledge now. I want others to tell me what they knew about him.

Mostly, I want to know his relationship with Jesus. He never talked about it. I search my memories for how Dad was an example of Christ. I diligently seek to identify those characteristics from Galations 5 in his life.

(Dear Lord, thank you for the earthly father you gave me. Help me to identify Your presence in his life. Help me to make sure Your presence is evident in my life. In Jesus' name I pray. Amen.)

Smoking a Camel

I remember my attempt at smoking cigarettes took place somewhere in my grade school years. Mom and Dad both smoked at that time. I checked Mom’s pack of light filtered cigarettes but there were too many in it. She’d notice if it were gone. I checked Dad’s pack of unfiltered Camel’s. Hmmm, there were only three in it. I could sneak that out and no one would really notice. I crawled under the house (out of sight and hiding; or so I thought) to begin my smoking adventure. Well, what an adventure it was. I lit that cigarette, gently sucked in and … Oh! that! hurt!! Cough, cough, cough, spit, spit, and cough some more. OH! That really hurt!! My one and only personal adventure with a cigarette was now complete.

Don’t try to tell me God doesn’t know what He’s doing. It was not coincidence that I ended up with Dad’s nasty, nasty cigarettes. And, even if I was under the house out of everyone else’s sight, God knew where I was and what I was doing. “I know that thou canst do every thing, and that no thought can be withholden from thee.” (Job 42:2) Thankfully, it was God’s way of keeping me from an addiction.

(Lord God, thank you for seeing the big picture. I only get to see the pieces of the puzzle that are close around me. I don't always know or understand why things happen in the way they do but You know. That's enough for me. I miss my dad. In eighteen short days it will be two years since he passed. Thank you for holding me close through these days to come. In Jesus' name I pray, amen.)