I am up to my elbows in wax. We are cleaning out some bee frames and the solar melter left us with 3 solid pints of wax. Now I have to decide what to do with it all. It is a terrible mess, especially when mixed with the dregs of honey.

Bruce and I are still debating. Do we have a hobby or a business? So far, it is a business that has produced more bills than honey. It is always expensive to begin something like this and the learning curve for bees, like every other animal, is steep. On some level, there must be a love of the process.

I can easily see why so many left their small farms for the lure of what seemed to be an easy life in the city. Of course, what those people found was a life that was just as hard and demanding but without the grace of working your own land. I was up a bit after five this morning. I walked through the dew soaked grass to bring some food to the pigs. The air was so soft, you could imagine that it could be worn like an old nightgown. The birds were up and singing, the goats bleating for their mamas. My back and knees still ached a bit from the hours I spent yesterday spading up another row of sod for the tomatoes. It was a good ache. I like knowing my body is there and will generally do what I ask of it. I returned to my kitchen, cluttered a bit with the work of a small holding. Wine is fermenting against one wall. An old toy sits on the island waiting for the pasta I am making later. There are some jars of produce sitting out that I need to use up. They will stretch the sauce for dinner tonight. My life would not be considered easy by many but it is the life I chose, It is hard and dirty and busy and beautiful and full. I wouldn’t trade it for any other.

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