Local Honey

yellow jacket: Any of 35–40 species (genus Dolichovespula or Vespula) of social wasps, principally of the Northern Hemisphere, named for the black bands on its yellow abdomen. Vespula species build concealed nests underground or in protected cavities; when a nest is stepped on, the colony may erupt in an angry, stinging swarm. (Encyclopedia Brittanica, www.britannica.com/EBchecked/topic/652626/yellow-jacket)

Back in July of 2009, Jenny and her kids were visiting. I was sitting in the kitchen when Kyle and Tyson came in from the deck crying. Not only were they crying, they were yelping because they were being repeatedly stung. They ended up with three or four stings each. While Judy tended to their stings, I was sent out to locate the bees nest and take care of the threat. I scouted out the back yard and finally located a bee. I followed it across the yard until it headed over the fence. I’m not good at going over fences, so it was fortunate that I had been fixing it (in other words, had torn it down and left the remnants on the ground until I could work up the motivation to put it back up semi-straight).

bee: (tribe Apini), any of a group of insects in the family Apidae (order Hymenoptera) that in a broad sense includes all bees that make honey. In a stricter sense, honeybee applies to any one of four members of the genus Apis—and usually only the single species, Apis mellifera, the domestic honeybee. This species is also called the European domestic bee or the western honeybee.(Encyclopedia Brittanica, www.britannica.com/bps/search?query=european+honey+bee)

As I approached the fence, I noticed that there were more bees buzzing around. Across the fence, they were crawling up into the eaves of our neighbors’ empty house. They didn’t seem that upset, however, and they were all the way on the other end of the deck. Besides, these looked a lot like honeybees, not hornets (which we all erroneously refer to as “bees” because . . . I don’t know why we do that).

Anyway, I kept searching until I found a hornets nest under our deck. Feeling brave, I went to the store and bought a can of industrial strength insecticide and emptied its contents on the 2-inch nest. Mission accomplished. However, there was still that bee hive next door.

Agriculture depends greatly on the honeybee for pollination. Honeybees account for 80% of all insect pollination. Without such pollination, we would see a significant decrease in the yield of fruits and vegetables. (Back Yard Beekeepers Association, www.backyardbeekeepers.com/facts.html)

“If the bee disappears from the surface of the earth, man would have no more than four years to live." ~ Albert Einstein

You’ve heard, of course, about the colony-collapse syndrome that has been plaguing honeybees lately. I had, so Judy and I decided to call our neighbor and suggest he call a beekeeper to relocate the hive. He agreed with us but didn’t know any, so he asked Judy if she could locate one. Of course she could, so she scheduled with a 12-year-old in our area who had recently bought a beekeeping business from an imminently-leaving missionary.

Because this was the 12-year-old’s first attempt to relocate a hive, the soon-to-be missionary came along as well. They took a look at the house brought out their equipment, and donned their traditional protective suits. Our neighbors had moved from their house a couple of months previous to this incident, so we were the contacts to the beekeepers. Fortunately, I hadn’t decided yet to rebuild my fence, so there was easy access to our yard and any equipment they might need from us. We quickly established an observation point about 15 yards.

They borrowed a couple of crowbars and pulled down the soffit to locate the hive. 

Now that they could see what they were up against, they had to decide on a plan of action. To move a hive, all you really have to do is move the queen. So locate the queen, move her to a box, and the rest of the bees will follow.

The queen bee can live up to 5 years and is the only bee that lays eggs. She is the busiest in the summer months, when the hive needs to be at its maximum strength, and lays up to 2500 eggs per day. (Back Yard Beekeepers Association, www.backyardbeekeepers.com/facts.html)

The process took a long time and gathered quite an audience. The beekeepers had limited space to work in where the hive was, so it took them quite a while. In the mean time, we peppered them with questions and learned a few things about bees. At one point, the younger beekeeper came by and put this bee on my hand.

Larger than the worker bees, the male honey bees (also called drones), have no stinger and do no work at all. All they do is mating.

Only worker bees sting, and only if they feel threatened and they die once they sting. Queens have a stinger, but they don’t leave the hive to help defend it. (Back Yard Beekeepers Association, www.backyardbeekeepers.com/facts.html)

This was obviously a drone. We were bonding. There was also plenty of honeycomb to go around.

Soon, however, the sun started going down and the audience dispersed. We hung around because we don’t have anything better to do and helped out. It started getting dark, so I went and grabbed my shop light from the garage and held it up for the beekeeper as he scraped out the honeycomb.

It didn’t take long till I felt something on my arm. Being the he-man that I described earlier, I shook violently. The bee flew away and the bulb went out. It took two more incandescent bulbs and a bee sting before I resorted to a compact fluorescent bulb and rolled up my sleeves.

Work was going slowly, so the beekeeper finally decided to vacuum out the bees. He borrowed our carpet cleaner that has the clear bucket. I was hoping that some of the bees might be saved that way, but it didn’t look very promising.

He finally finished and we washed wax and honey from all of our stuff. He gave us a few combs and instructed us how to extract and filter the honey.

We boiled it, and strained it, and boiled it, and strained it, and put it in bottles. You can come over and try it if you’d like. The one thing we didn’t do is centrifuge it (couldn’t find our centrifuge) so there are a few bee parts in it. But it tastes really good.

The TP Dilemma

Public restrooms are an interesting place, not that I care to spend that much time there. But as I age, I find that biology has a way of placing me there for extended periods on a regular basis. There’s something to be thankful for in that.

Before my Clie days, it would give me time to ponder on the minutiae of my existence. Deep questions, such as, “Should the toilet paper roll out over the top or from below?”, or “How did they get that on there, anyway?”, or “If someone is on his cell phone, is it impolite for me to flush?” (this last one I resolved by determining that if he [it’s always a “he” for some reason] feels that his conversation is public enough for a restroom, then he shouldn’t be embarrassed by any ambient noises; I flush with impugnity).

The first two perplexed my for years. When I discovered how to change the rolls in restroom of my workplace, I would often change it to my preferred arrangement: over the top. It made sense to me: the soft, quilted design is embossed so that it shows when the paper rolls from the top, not the bottom. For years, I felt that was all the explanation that I needed. Recently, I discovered differently.

A week ago I was doing a search on “paper” to find a graphic for a flyer for Judy. Among all of the photos of paper of different sizes, textures, and grades was the following illustration.

I was intrigued.  Someone actually took the time not only to look into the mechanics of toilet paper roll placement, he also made a graphic to illustrate the tearing action and result! In fact, there is a complete article on it, including a second illustration, at http://www.treehugger.com/files/2008/07/green_your_toil.php. I can’t vouch for the site, but I don’t want to neglect citing my source.

Believe it or not, this wasn’t my discovery. It happened while I was at work, in the restroom (to clarify, the restroom was at work; I wasn’t working in the restroom). Where I work, the toilet paper rolls don’t have a tube in the middle. Instead, the roll is tightly wound all the way from the center. That means, by the time the roll is down to the last few feet, the roll resembles a fat, squiggly white worm shedding its skin. Obviously, by the time it  gets to that point, nobody wants to handle it, let alone spend the time unraveling it. The other day as I entered the stall I found one of those remnants dangling disrespectfully, albeit artfully, from the handicap support bar. But I digress.

The toilet paper holder has a nub on each side that extend about 1/4 inch into the center of the roll. It’s loose enough that the roll turns when pulled without breaking the paper prematurely. Overall, it puts more paper on the roll so it doesn’t need to be changed as often. It works until the roll devolves to the “worm phase,” when it falls off and either gets desparately unraveled or disposed of. Ingenious, really. I like ingenious.

Well, on this particular day, the roll was not quite at worm stage. Unfortunately, it was positioned for the below-the-roll delivery. I didn’t attempt to correct it because for this particular system removing the roll can be difficult. Besides, I’ve matured past that stage. In fact I thought nothing of it until it was time to leave. My first pull proved that the roll was a bit stiff in its holder. On the second, harder pull, the roll jumped from the holder and fell to the floor. Now, because it was unrolling from the bottom, the roll was spinning so that when it hit the floor it would continue rolling, or unrolling, in the direction of the holder, which was placed on the divider between the two stalls. Its velocity took it underneath the divider to a stop mid stall, between the feet of my neighbor. It sat there, a paper trail flowing behind it, much like a snail’s trail but with not so much mucous.

So what do you do in that situation? I waited. My schooling didn’t cover this. But I had to say something.

“Do you need any toilet paper?” I offered.

Pause.

“No, I’m good.”

I thought of trying to retrieve the roll, but was afraid that with each tug on the tail, the roll would unwind and roll further into my companion’s stall.

“Sorry about that.” I offered in my most conciliatory tone.

Pause.

“No worries.”

I finished what I was doing and left him to take care of my stray roll, trusting that if I said no more that I might retain what precarious anonymity a bathroom stall ensures. What else could I do? But now I have my justification. It goes beyond aesthetics. It goes beyond saving paper. It’s about saving face.

A pair of birthdays

Todd and Crystal both had birthdays recently. We celebrated a couple of times, once at Red Lobster (sorry, no pictures) and once at home (pictures to follow). I made lasagna, Berrett made birthday cake, and we let Steven play in the water. We let Todd play in the water, too. And also we let Kyle chase Crystal with the hose. We had a good time.

Steven’s favorite activity was drinking from the hose.

 

Todd got into the act, as well.

I don’t know why Judy wouldn’t just give him a big hug.

 

Would you trust this kid around a garden hose?

I like the spikes.

Happy birthday Todd and Crystal!

Lia

I wanted to get this out by Lia’s birthday on July 30, but I couldn’t think of what to say. It’s a big time in her life and a milestone in ours as well and there are a lot of emotions conflicting inside me, so nothing sounds appropriate.

She’ll be heading off to college in just a couple of weeks and won’t be with us for a few months. It will be strange and a little bit emptier.

Anyway, here are some of my favorite pictures of her.

 

We took a lot of pictures at this little turnout at Deer Creek. Now they’ve removed it to add another two lanes to the highway.

My artsy-fartsy-kid-on-a-slide shot.

We both still love to nap.

This was on a day trip we took to Vernal. I love how excited she was to share whatever with us. 

She does still like to do things her own way. 

I’m not sure what Berrett would say of this picture.

  

This is one of my favorites.

This is from the dance that I was supposed to write about more than a year ago.

And now she’s graduated.

(Sigh)

Day 3: Reunion 1: Boggs

Monday started without Sunday ending. But that was last post. Monday was the Boggs reunion, Judy’s mom’s family. There’s an interesting dynamic with this trip: Judy’s Grandfather was a southern, country boy, born and raised in Bibb county, Alabama. From what I gather, after high school, he got together with a couple of his friends and they headed up north to Chicago.

The census records and stories I’ve heard have him working as an usher or a steward on a train. While there, they decided to go deer hunting in Wisconsin. As luck would have it, they got confused and misspelled what they were hunting—the three of them met and married sisters. The one that most concerns this story Alma. She married Louie and the two of them returned to Alabama, where they started a family and Louie graduated from Auburn University. They built a home in Pondville and a generation later, Judy was born.

The reunion: greeting, hugging, talking, laughing, eating, talking, walking in the humid parking lot, sitting for pictures, running, kicking, catching throwing, laughing, competing, evading a touch, talking, hugging, farewells. That’s how reunions go, and this one was the same with different people. But it’s not what you do that matters. Although I’m not directly related to any of them, it was nice to see them again.

I’m starting to suspect that the real purpose for reunions is to see how much everyone ages. It’s been five years since the last reunion and all of the early teenagers are now high school graduates. Living with Lia, we witnessed the changes on a daily basis, but these others have been frozen in time for five years. And I’ve been looking at pictures repeatedly for the last five years as I’ve been organizing them. These kids haven’t been changing in all this time, and suddenly they’re a foot taller and preparing for college. And if there parents are any indication of how I’ve been aging? . . . hmmmm. Anyway, we have another reunion on Saturday.

Day 2: Endless Things

Sunday morning was educational. I rarely take time to look at what I have and if I really need it. Transferring all of our trip possessions from one van to the other made us consider what was really necessary, if not in life at least in a trip to Alabama. And really, we were overloaded. What do we really need in life? I think I can sum it up in Family, Friends, and a good pizza crust recipe (which we didn’t think to bring along).

 

I had transferred all of the bags from the old van and added to them the bags from the room, and was feeling pretty proud with the way I had arranged everything. I’m kind of proud of my ability to stack boxes and bags in a tight space to use up all of the available space. As I was comparing myself to Peruvian wall builders, other packages started arriving in containers that wouldn’t stack: blankets; bags; loose items, and it occurred to me that we weren’t even close to getting everything in.

You might remember the story of the last time we came to Alabama. We flew in to Atlanta with three bags per person (this was 5-6 years ago when you didn’t have to pay for each bag) and found ourselves at the rental car company with 7 people, 21 bags and a Dodge Caravan. After loading the largest bags behind the seats, kids in the back, bags on the kids, we realized that this was going to be a long, uncomfortable trip. So we asked if they had anything larger, hopefully in the GMC Safari size range. All they had was a Chrysler Town and Country, which is actually just the upscale version of the Caravan. They said it was larger, and we decided to try it out. The first thing I noticed is that it was missing a  seat. The second thing was that there is a large bin behind that back seat that just about doubles the cargo space. That was great, but the staff was puzzled about the missing seat. “I’ll check around back, where the van was. John, can you call around; see if the detailers took it out for some reason?” A few minutes later I unfolded it from the floor, which gave us even more space.

Unfortunately for this trip, there were no replacements and no hidden storage areas. Bummer. 9:00 we left Pine Bluffs and the van that fits our family, kids wedged in with books, blankets, game boys, and other, um, uh . . . junk. Mapquest doesn’t do as good a job at estimating times as TomTom. And neither does the job nearly as well as reality. Reality put us in St. Louis at midnight (the Arch is still impressive at midnight at 55 mph, with other cars buzzing around you and a GPS unit telling you to exit right and stay in the left lane; too bad I didn’t listen quickly enough). It was about that time that our plans changed to a short rest stop at a rest stop and mad dash to Hartselle. Judy and I switched driving, and the kids slept folded up through half of Missouri, Kentucky, and Tennessee. So our day didn’t end in the traditional, pillow-aided way, but we’ve been resting some since.

Tomorrow, the reunion.

Alabama trip day 1: Notes from room 13

• Sometimes it is best to sleep through the final steps of preparation, especially if they tend to take the entire night.
• If you plan to leave the morning after high school graduation, don’t be surprised if the graduate is too tired to remember basic essentials, such as a cell phone.
• The bass line of rap music is not conducive to sleep.
• When the Check Engine Soon light comes on, it’s not good to assume that means “after the vacation is over and we have put an additional 4500 miles on the engine.”
• Pine Bluffs, Wyoming does indeed qualify as the middle of nowhere.
• If you break down somewhere other than the parking lot of the Days Inn where you booked your reservation, make sure you do it before 4:00 24 hours before your reservation unless you want to pay for the stupid room anyway.
• Car rental companies in Cheyenne close at 2:00 pm on the Saturday before Memorial Day and don’t open again until the following Tuesday.
• You can indeed buy a van on first sight, no research, without your wife present, without a penny in your pocket.
• A dead van is worth $50 dollars in Wyoming if you are only passing through.
• A Pontiac Montana hold half as much travel junk as a GMC Safari.
• The bass line of Mexican mariachi band at a Spanish wedding is not conducive to sleep.
• Is 13 really the only available room left at this motel?