Lazy W Marie

Carpeing all the diems in semi-rural Oklahoma...xoxo

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Archives for 2012

Trading Wrath for Gratitude

   Today I cracked open our book club’s current selection, which we’ll discuss over dinner in June, The Grapes of Wrath by John Steinbeck. Just in case you don’t know, this is a novel partially set in my beloved home state of Oklahoma, during the brutal Depression and Dust Bowl. It follows the struggle of a native Oklahoma family who suffers from all the ramifications of the agricultural and economic failures of that time. This was a century ago, but how many bells are ringing in your heart right now?

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   I sat down to start this papery adventure after a morning of cruising junk and antique shops that were as lovely as they were tiny and unique, spending a few dollars on perfectly frivolous luxuries. I bought a heavy turquoise pendant handing from an old shoelace; a super long chain necklace with a kitschy locked heart charm at the bottom that desperately wants to be gold when it grows up; a medium sized but tarnished silver tray with wooden handles, the kind you use to serve breakfast in bed or maybe decorate a vintage-themed outdoor wedding which is coming up in seven days; three threadbare cotton handkerchiefs; a set of pink seashell-encrusted salt and pepper shakers from Florida; and an opulently  matted and framed oil painting for my dining room. None of these things were expensive (though the oil painting really should have been), but I acknowledge that none of them are really necessary, either. My life is brimming with undeserved luxury, and I know it.

   In addition to the material bounty, it happens that I soaked up the first four chapters of Grapes of Wrath while soft, cool rain fell in steady showers all over this grand land and flowers bloomed in every available container.

   The stark contrast between feast and famine, parched and verdant, would not be lost on any reader.
   This year, today, in this entire lifetime, I am so grateful. For the rain which is nourishing us again and for the milder temperatures we are enjoying at the moment. For the fields that are stacked deep and dotted and dressed with hundreds of beautiful, golden bales of soft hay. For every lake, river, and pond that glimmers past its banks with clean water. For the animals and gardens that feed not just our bellies, but also our souls. For the people who drive and toil toward every paycheck, especially my husband who has my deepest admiration.
   I am so thankful for living, breathing romance and for solid friendships and for children with better memories than I had feared. I am thankful that for every heartache we see hope. That for every frustration we eventually find relief. And that for every drought, somehow, mercifully, we get to see green again. I am really thankful that my bees are happy and that my watermelon vines are blooming, you guys. You cannot even imagine!
“The unthankful heart… discovers no mercies; 
but let the thankful heart sweep through the day and, 
as the magnet finds the iron, so it will find, in every hour, 
some heavenly blessings!”  
~Henry Ward Beecher
   I still believe very much in miracles. The small, nearly imperceptible sort that we sometimes call minutiae and also the most shocking, most unlikely ones, the ones that make headlines. Naturally tragedies continue and not every prayer is answered the way we expect. But unplanned joy and sudden relief are also facts of life. We just have to seek them out and then celebrate them when they appear. 
   Enjoy the lushness while you have it, however it looks for your life, today. Cultivate joy. Give thanks. Wear way too many necklaces that don’t match, it’s probably fine. Keep hope simmering on the back burner. It will nourish you from the inside out and ready you for the next lean year.
By the Way, Someone is Grateful for You, Too.
xoxoxoxo

Bee Adoption Day

   So, if you are kind enough to be following along, you probably know that last night I drove to Noble, Oklahoma, to collect my bees. Just out of curiosity, what image does that conjure up for you? I’d love to know.  This whole experience has been replete with learning, so plenty of what I have expected along the way has been wrong.

   Fortunately, I was able to make the drive with my mentor in tow, which soothed my jangled nerves considerably. Maribeth and I enjoyed a leisurely drive brimming with more of that sparkling conversation. Have I said lately how lush and healthy Oklahoma is right now?

   The apiary is not too far off of the interstate but at the end of a long, green tunnel of a road, surrounded by horse farms. Once we found the driveway, it was unmistakable.

Royal Bee Supply, Oklahoma

   What a humble, happy entrance. And the owners/operators, Marcy and Brian, are just as warm and friendly as you might imagine honey lovers to be!

   Did you know that bees crawl at night instead of fly? And that they return to the hive every night, after a day of collecting? We arrived at dusk purposefully so that the boxes we purchased would be as full of bees as possible.
   I’m sorry these photos are a bit fuzzy. My gloved hands were not cooperating so well with the tiny camera buttons. Anyway, here you can see a lidded cardboard box with a river of bees on the side. This is rush hour traffic on the crosstown, taking bees home after a long day at the office.
   The atmosphere last night was slightly different than what I sensed at the bee yard last month. I heard the bees, certainly, and I saw plenty of them; but the mood was a smidge more intense than during those previous morning hours. Perhaps that is the most important difference, that we were visiting at dusk when workers were returning home instead of during the time when so many would have been absent. 
   Also, these hives are all in transition, perhaps not perfectly acclimated to their surroundings. I never felt afraid, just more alert than before. I kept close track of every bee that landed on my veil.
   Oh, and I wore better jeans this time. Here you can see the cuffs duct taped to my rubber boots. Scraps of the yellow badge of honor are still on my boots this morning, and I plan to leave them there.
      This is one of my two NUCs being loaded into the truck bed. Do you remember the first time you drove your newborn baby around in a car seat? Dilute that feeling just a little bit and add to it the fear of getting pulled over by the highway patrol car and then witnessing the officer’s subsequent violent stinging, and you can sort of imagine how I felt driving home.
   None of that actually happened. It just crossed my mind. About seven times.
   On the way back toward Oklahoma City, where we would deliver Maribeth’s full hive, we stopped for an ice cream refreshment at Braum’s. This was a life event worth marking with a really special memory, you guys. Ice cream was most definitely in order. We went inside wearing our full bee suits. Much to my eternal disappointment, not one person asked us about our amazing costumes.
   
   We finally made it back to the Lazy W around 11:00 p.m., and Handsome met us at the little bee yard he had built for me. At a safe distance but wearing only flip flops, shorts, and a tank top, he took a few photos of Maribeth and me placing the NUCs. That inky blackness behind us is the infamous Pine Forest which definitely houses a large deer family and may or may not be populated by Sasquatch. 
   I could barely settle down at bedtime. It felt like Christmas Eve, the last day of school, and my birthday rolled into one, since I knew that in the morning my 80,000 new fuzzy babies could be out exploring our farm. 
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   Somehow, though, I did manage to sleep. Then at dawn my eyes popped wide open, long before the alarm sounded or the roosters crowed.
   
   I ran to the upstairs west window to see if the NUCs were okay, although from that distance all I could see was that they were still where we left them. Handsome, still in bed, asked wearily, “Are they swarming the windows yet? Hey, do you know how to do a trach on yourself if you get stung? We should have had you tested for bee allergies before doing this.” 
   “Umm, no, they’re not swarming babe. Yes, I know how to do a trach if needed and I can put a bandage over it too, but don’t worry, I don’t think I am allergic. Everything is fine.”
   I have a really good husband. And my reply was at least 65% true. Actually I have no clue in the world how to do a safe tracheotomy on myself or any other living creature. But we do have a lot of Benadryl.
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   This morning has been cool and mild. Almost no breeze again, very similar in feeling to that day we visited Cripple Creek Farms. As soon as I could, I ran outside in yoga pants, a pajama top, and flip flops to see what was happening. The grass was so dewy that in just a few steps my legs were splashed and flecked with mud. My arms were gloved in goosebumps, but I wasn’t sure if that was from the cool air or more nervous excitement.

   
     Chunk-Hi was breathing steam as he grunted and patrolled the sunrise.
The moon was still lingering like a gypsy earring over the back field.
   Good morning Daphne! Look at that sleepy little ankle… Almost done shedding, she looks like she’s wrapped in black and chocolate satin. When I first walked down to inspect the bee yard this morning, she had been watching it too, as had a tiny wild rabbit, three Canadian geese visiting from a nearby pond, and most of our chickens. Handsome and I remarked on how the animals all notice promptly when something new arrives at the farm. It’s pretty fun to watch our little society react to subtle changes.
All is well.
   Around 6:45 a.m. the bees were just beginning to peek out of those small entrances, probably explaining why the chickens and guineas suddenly found other things to do. I have spent my morning so far doing one little chore at a time, layering each one between additional trips downhill to see the bee yard.
   Today promises to be full of equal parts work and beauty. I feel so blessed to be surrounded by all of this, to be so steeped in nature and miracles.
   Thanks for following our little bee adventure! I will keep you posted.
Life is Just Too Sweet
xoxoxo

Hive Painting Day

   This past Sunday afternoon a dozen or so talented people from different corners of our life descended on the farm for some art and fellowship. And of course there were snacks. It was a two-fold event, intended on one hand to decorate my two unfinished wooden bee hives and then on the other hand to start some wedding preparations. (The wedding is in exactly eleven days, folks. The air is thick with anticipation!)
   I had sort of planned to participate in the painting of the wooden-ware, but as the artists moved around and manifested their ideas, I wanted nothing more than to watch the magic happen.
   Haley and Lauren came prepared! They had ahead of time sketched four or five possible hive illustrations and did a wonderful job bringing them to life! 

 

   


   This is Juliana giving me a slightly skeptical look and Mysti focusing intently on her first wall. Mysti, freshly twenty one, is our youngest book clubber. She is also on the brink of graduation form hair design academy. Congrats, Mysti!!

   This is Mysti’s first beautiful creation of the day, the painting on which she was concentrating so hard in the photo above. I groove this so much, you guys! The lettering is almost old fashioned, which is perfect.


   Mother and daughter, Marci & Juliana, starting their purple wall. This is a custom-blended color, which later they coated with blue glitter! I am flat out crazy about these ladies. And not just because Marci is a phenomenal cook. But that does not hurt one bit. 

   Marci is never very far from a Diet Coke. That is a cold, hard fact.

   Here is Haley concentrating on her beautifully detailed bee mural. It doesn’t show in this photo, but one of the bees on this wall has arms extended, cradling a huge golden chunk of nectar! Or it could be honey, the girls informed me. Love it. I would never have thought to paint that.

   You might remember that Tracy accompanied me to that first bee class back in March. She is always up for a new experience! Here she is again, cheerfully painting this field of flowers, which I immediately loved to pieces. To my eye, her abstract blooms resemble Coreopsis, poppies, and gladiolus. Wouldn’t it would make a great stationery set?


   I did not realize the day of our painting fun that Tracy’s birthday was right around the corner! Happy Birthday, sweet woman! You are setting such an incredible example for your kids, feeding that happy appetite for life.

   Can you even believe how sweet and bright these girls are? By the way, Lauren is Tracy’s youngest and Haley is Lauren’s friend. They are sheer joy to be around! Well mannered, protective of the little kids, and just plain happy. When all the bee art was complete and they had each made a tie-dye shirt, these girls dove right in and helped with wedding prep! Thank you ladies.

   Our Lazy W ranch brand!! Thank you Mysti, this is so darn cool as beans. Now if we could only figure out how to get the brand of each of our tiny little bees…

   Everyone was in awe of the glittered side of this hive! 
   Here is Tracy adding some cheerful polka dots!

   
Can you see those painted little paw prints on the concrete? 

   They came from this dog. His name is Buster, and he is a natural-born goose herder. He can swim in muddy ponds. He can paint sidewalks like nobody’s business. He can beg and jump three feet in the air. But he is terrified of running horses. Everyone has a kryptonite.
   The sun began to sink behind the pond as the hives were relieved of every last speck of bare wood. The visiting artists started looking around the farm for more blank canvases and found them in cotton tee shirts and old worn out fence pickets.




      Can you see the lettering? This is a carving, not a painting. It says, “BEE’S HOUSE!” That should clear things up around here.


   Priceless. I can’t help but think this needs to go to the girls’ mothers. So sweet.

  As I mentioned, we did more than paint hives on Sunday. We circled the wagons for some brass tacks wedding crafting, too. But those photos and stories will come later…
   
  That is all I have time to write, you guys! Any second now I am off to Noble, Oklahoma to adopt my two fuzzy little colonies! Wish me luck. I’ll check in tomorrow.

Pollinate Your Friendships
xoxoxo

American Honey

   A few Saturdays ago I was fortunate enough to spend most of the day with Handsome’s colleague at the Commish, our good friend, and my new honey mentor… Maribeth. She’s a three-in-one fantastic person to know, and then some! Maribeth had invited me to visit Cripple Creek Farms with her for a beekeepers’ social gathering and hive diagnosis demonstration.

   Cripple Creek is a privately owned farm near Guthrie, Oklahoma, where the proprietors Randy and Treasa Brady raise bees, goats, and chickens and grow peaches, vegetables, herbs, and more. They hosted us and a few dozen other bee keepers for coffee and donuts, tours, discussion, and then a wonderful outdoor lunch.They are just as lovely and hospitable as you can imagine, and I hope to return for an agri-tourism event soon! If you shop the Saturday morning farmer’s market in Edmond, look for their products.

Thank you for your hospitality, Randy & Treasa!
Their verdant row of peach trees already in fruit 
made the chlorophyll in my veins hum.
(Keep in mind this was almost a month ago.)
By the way, how cool is it that growing foods and flowers 
and keeping bees are so simpatico? So symbiotic? So poetic?
This links my paternal heritage of apiaries 
and my maternal heritage of gardens,
and I just love that.
Goat kids are so cute. In other people’s yards.
These babies are bottle fed and certified organic and disease free,
and they will eventually be faithful dairy producers.
   It was a thoroughly beautiful day in every respect. In fact, I learned so much and was so inspired by the experience that I have had trouble deciding how to tell the story. Should I try to tackle the science, or should I instead try to impart to you the magic? That’s the struggle I felt the whole time we were at Cripple Creek, too. Should I obey the desire to learn, restricting my imagination and focusing stringently on the education available? Or is this experience meant to fill my heart, fueling me for the pen-and-paper classes soon to come? Should I just surrender to the romance of a thriving bee yard?

   I chose the magic and romance, big surprise.

   Oh, and by the way, that day was also supposed to be the next official bee class at OSU, but I had the instructor’s blessing to skip class and attend this instead. You guys, the last time I skipped class it was because I hadn’t studied for something and I was looking over my shoulder the whole time!

   Before we continue, perhaps I should insert here that I made the odd mistake of wearing intentionally frayed and holey jeans to the bee yard. The reason was less for fashion and more because I knew not to wear perfume or fragranced soap, so I just took it a step further and wore the same clothes I wore that Friday. Anyway, that was a mistake. 

   My neighbors on the hay trailer were kind enough to notice, and Maribeth helped me seal up the many points of bee entry with her trusty duct tape.

“Duct tape is a beekeeper’s best friend.” ~Maribeth


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    The sky was cloudless. It glowed with that deep, bright color of old denim. The sun poured like warm butter all over my skin, all over the trees and all over every free range chicken and every blade of green grass. If there was any breeze that day, it was mild. Nearly undetectable.

She grew up on the side of the road

Where the church bells ring
and strong love grows
She grew up good, she grew up slow
like American honey

   Once we all suited up and enjoyed a slow hay-and-trailer ride down to the bee yard, a couple of football fields away, we walked around cautiously.

   Following our host I noticed a gradual increase in bee activity. The buzzing was a whisper at first, then it grew louder and more urgent, almost loud enough to sound amplified, like on a microphone.

   But it was lulling, not terrifying at all. The communal hum was downright soothing. I wanted to lay in the grass and clover with the sun on my skin and sleep there or maybe read.

   Do you know what’s amazing? The complexity of a bee colony. And the gentle industry.

Steady as a preacher, free as a weed
Couldn’t wait to get going
But wasn’t quite ready to leave
So innocent, pure and sweet
like American honey

Here, Randy was describing the usurping of a Russian queen bee
by an Italian one and the changing health of the remaining colony.
It’s very thought provoking.
Because of my reading material this spring,
the political implications were on the tip of my tongue.

   The long, complicated, delicate process of honey production is possibly nearer to enchantment than even a seed breaking dormancy in the spring. Nature’s honey recipe is so uniquely beautiful and so filled with intricacy that the fact that we can not only impose ourselves into that process but also participate in it and even enhance it, well… I have no problem calling that a miracle. What a gift that God would allow us to be involved in this!

Get caught in the race of this crazy life
Trying to be everything can make you lose your mind
I just wanna go back in time to American honey
There’s a wild, wild whisper blowing in the wind…
Calling out my name like a long lost friend.
Oh how I miss those days as those years go by
Oh nothing’s sweeter than summertime
And American honey. 

Are you entranced by natural honeycomb?
Its shape, colors, texture, even its pale fragrance…
Mesmerizing.
   Maribeth and her husband Dean joined us last weekend for dinner and hours of sparkling conversation. That evening we scouted around the Lazy W and chose the perfect hive location. Handsome and I have a few more preparations to make, then tomorrow evening I drive to Noble, Oklahoma, to retrieve my two colonies. 

   And then the real adventure begins. 
“Hope is the only bee that makes honey without flowers.”
~Robert Green Ingersall
xoxoxoxo
Tune in tomorrow for a little story about the hive painting…

The Book Thief (a book review)

   This novel, The Book Thief by Marcus Zusak, is a title our club consumed a few months ago. I am just now reviewing it, honestly, because I am just now finishing it. I did not much groove this book, you guys. Not much at all. And this places me squarely in our club’s minority. It has several redeeming qualities, for sure, and I am happy to share them with you and encourage you to try it for yourself; but overall I had to push and prod myself through page after page. Even with nice, beefy subject matter like friendship and survival, coming of age, and genocide, I like books to offer a little more momentum than that. Okay, now that that’s out of the way… Have you heard of The Book Thief?

   It is a fancifully written but gritty, personal account of a young girl living in Nazi Germany. It is told more or less from the perspective of Death himself, which as far as I remember is why our club chose the book in the first place. Written by Marcus Zusak, this story is aimed at a Young Adults audience and in fact spent almost a year on the New York Times Children’s Literature best seller’s list. That’s quite something! And it may sort of explain why I had a hard time connecting with it.

   The format is unique, in that Death sometimes narrates in a comfortably informal, conversational tone, and other times the story is told as distantly as any novel. I greatly preferred the odd narration and really liked how Zusak used sensual imagery to convey war and death. Especially luscious are the long series of different ways Death lifts a soul from its body, and often, interestingly, vivid accounts of the sky at the moment each soul is claimed.

“The sky was like soup, boiling and stirring. 
In some places it was burned. 
There were black crumbs, and pepper, 
streaked across the redness.”

   That was well done, as were many scattered elements of the story. I got lost in more than a few descriptive scenes like that. And he does express pain really well.

“Hans Hubermann sat with her. 
He placed his hand on hers, as she fell back to the hard ground.
He allowed her screams to fill the street.”

   The characters are only marginally sympathetic for me, until the very tail end of the book, and by then I was rather exhausted. On the other hand, the characters were realistic and believably flawed, less heroic than we are used to seeing in novels. Perhaps that was his whole point, that the World Wars were fought by real people, that not all Germans were all evil or all good, and that not all Jews or Allies were either.

   Again, this is important historical material, and perhaps it is intended to fall on ears that have had little exposure to World War II realities. Zusak does a great job reducing the big events to the cellular level, relaying, for example, how a bombing raid would feel to a village, to a family, to a young girl. And through the main character’s life story we are invited to see how the wars affected German bystanders who were not necessarily Hitler supporters. These are valuable perspectives, for sure. And I do not mean to discount them or any other part of the book with my overall negative impression of it. It was just a slightly laborious read.

   I find myself wishing Zusak would write something else, something more adult, employing more of the fringed imagery he has invented.

   Have you read this book? Please share your thoughts. And please do not forward this to the author.

A Friend to All is a Friend to None, 
Even in Book Reviews
xoxoxo