My dad was a keeper of the bees at one time. I remember those fresh honey comb slabs of sweet and chewy wonder like it was yesterday. He would also get some fresh honey out of hive honey for us to put on mom’s fresh out of the oven bread. Those were wondrous times for me and I miss them but as time passes I remember more and more of yesterdays past. I suppose it is because my folks are getting older and soon there will be no more new memories to be made. This truly makes me sad and somehow thankful at the same time.
Well now let’s get back to The Keeper Of The Bees.
My dad always did things by himself and never asked for help. He was an only child and he just had to do things himself. There was a incident with the bees where a little help would have been, well very helpful.
You see the hives needed to be relocated which he sought out to do. The rub was he thought moving the hives, one at a time, on a Radio Flyer little red wagon was a good idea. It was a good idea, up to the point said wagon hit a mole tunnel. The out come was not pretty. Said wagon flipped over on its side hive and all. Immediate and appropriate action was taken by my dad.
What was not known to me up until that time was my dad could flat out run! I never knew. Really. When my dad said stop we never ran because it was futile to do so. I mean he knew where we lived, and it was not going to be hard to find us, since we lived the same place he did. He knew we needed to eat, since we were growing boys, and have to come back home. So I never ran from him, hence I never knew he could run but at that moment I would bet you pennies to peanuts he could have out ran Carl Lewis!
He ran past the front of the house as me and sibling unit number one watched him flash by, smoker smoking like the little train that could! I cannot remember exactly how many bee stings he had but I do know he never moved the hives that way again. And we boys still never ran from him.