A few years ago, the little boy found himself in the middle of an angry hive of stinging, flying somethings. They were in his shorts and up his shirt, he got it pretty good. The following summer he stayed in the house every time we checked bees.
Fast forward to this summer, curiosity got the best of him. One night I went to check the bees and he asked to come with. “Next time. You need pants and boots and long sleeves.”
We weren’t even finished with supper the following night and he has excused himself from the table and came back dressed to check the bees. Together we built a fire in the smoker. He “suited” up in Mike’s beekeeping hat and gloves and grabbed the hive tool. We hopped on the four-wheeler and headed out for his first hive check.
Rain, rain, stay away. Come again another day. Papa wants to hay today.
By Friday night we had the first cuttings bales of fresh hay in the loft. I think this was the first year nothing broke and we didn’t have the worry of rain. I should probably write that down because who knows if we will ever be so lucky again. I guess I am jumping the gun a little bit; the hay on dad’s fields still needs to be put up and the sky is looking pretty dark.
Personally, I love haying season. As with anything there are some not so great parts but I do my best to overlook those. Things like a million cuts on my forearms from the scratching hay, the constant heavy lifting in the summer heat, the chaff that clings to sweat and itches and the sneezing and snot. Yeah, haying isn’t always pretty, easy or comfortable. All that aside, it’s great. (Yes, I know, I probably am outnumbered everyone to one on this.)
Dream big or sit on the front porch…or… Dream big, grab your hoe and rolling pin and make things happen!
I love that the eggs in our kitchen came from our coop, the raspberries in my scones came from our berry patch, the honey from our hive, the wheat from our field and ground to flour in our kitchen and if I were ever not pregnant when it came time to start milking Lucy and Sweet Caroline there’s potential for fresh dairy products from the barn. That’s just the bakery side of the farm. To say that we are blessed is an amazing understatement, to say we are thankful is the same.
I had said that I wanted the potatoes dug before the baby arrived. I shouldn’t have. She was a week late and the potatoes were still in the ground. I had been busy getting other work done but it was becoming obvious that she was waiting for me to get to work in the garden. Forty one weeks and I was digging potatoes. Mike was busy prepping the wheat field for next spring and the kids were taking turns riding the tractor and playing with the worms unearthed as I dug. I finished the red potatoes at the same time that Mike had finished the field, also the same time the kids were ready for lunch. We called it a day in the garden, loaded the potatoes and headed home.
It would be another week before baby arrived and needless to say I was more than ready to lose the extra girth. It’s surprising how much more difficult daily tasks are when you belly is “out to here”.
We started the 2017 honey harvest this weekend. I was really hoping to have more to write about with the bees over the summer. I probably would have if we were a little more hands on with our beekeeping. We weren’t. We checked the hive about every other week and from talking with others, they were checking theirs if not daily at least weekly. I could make excuses like we work in town full time, have young children, farm animals, a garden, grain fields, hay fields and the farmers market. Yes, we are busy but it really doesn’t take that much more time to light a fire in the smoker and take a walk across the field.
Most trips to the hive when the kids were awake were uneventful. They would all line up on the edge of the field and watch from a distance. There was one hive check after it had rained that we came back to the kids playing in mud puddles, one dressed, one in their underwear and one… well she’s our free spirit but she was wearing a flour sack dish towel for a cape. All were a happy, muddy mess and the bees had survived the storm. Little happenings like this are probably the best reason we didn’t make it out weekly.