Margaret Atwood wrote that “potential has a shelf life.” In this case, sometimes potential lives on a shelf.
Yesterday I arrived in the unnamed portion of Ohio that I called home for fifteen years of my life. If you’re wondering, it’s not “unnamed” because I’m trying to protect my privacy; it’s unnamed because it’s a vast expanse of suburb that quite literally has no name. We’re not quite Loveland (unfortunately. Can you imagine living somewhere named love-land?) and we’re not quite Mason (because Ma$on is fancy). Kings is the school district but technically Kings is the tiny little neighborhood directly surrounding the Junior High and High School. And my mailing address might be Maineville, but Maineville is really a few miles north.
But that’s neither here nor there. The point is: I’m home! Continue reading
Can I tell you something? Weather is something I just don’t understand.
I remember studying weather in 5th grade science. My teacher made us memorize that wind is caused the “the uneven heating of the earth by the sun.” The memorization part totally worked, but I still have exactly zero idea what that means.
I am not a person who likes bugs. I refuse to go camping out of fear that I’ll wake up with a spider dangling half an inch above my face. Ants marching in a straight line make me want to pull out a magnifying glass and fry them one by one as they come towards me. I’ve been known to take showers in the middle of the night after waking up from nightmares involving cockroaches lying eggs in different crevices in my house and body.
But bees? Bees are fascinating! Cute, even. I recently went on a road trip with my friend, Molly, to visit her family — including her bee-keeping dad, Jack — in New England. After two days of eating honey on toast, on spoons, and on a giant pancake, we got to go out and play with the bees.
I spent the entire 30 minute ride out to the farm pestering Jack with questions like a kindergardener.
Where do you get bees?
They come in the mail.
How much honey do you get every year?
Two years ago we harvested 15 gallons but last year we only got 2.
Have you ever been stung?
We went to two of his hives, one where the bees had died from not having enough to make it through the winter (although, bafflingly, an entire lower drawer of honeycomb had been entirely ignored by the bees who ate from bottom to top and died in droves near the top) and another mean-ass colony who were still alive and kicking in 15 degree weather. After an afternoon spent poking around the hives, I went home with a plan for my retirement, a jar full of Jack’s Gold, and a head full of bee knowledge that I can’t wait to tell you about.