The Birth of Venus (Book Review)
My most recent literary adventure was orchestrated by a lovely woman named Sarah Dunant, author of The Birth of Venus. It is a 400 page piece of historical fiction, illustrating and exploring the life of an Italian woman during the late fifteenth century. I loved it. It reads like a guilty pleasure but feeds your mind enough to make you feel pretty good about it. Like a bacon sundae.
Birth of Venus by Sarah Dunant, 2004 |
Senses Inventory in the Museum
The experience refreshed me down to my bones.
Just when I needed it, the universe offered up
a wider view and a long, cool drink of beauty.
As the first tendrils of inspiration began to wind around my heart,
I found some paper and scribbled down a senses inventory.
This happened in the Trammel Crow Museum in downtown Dallas, Texas.
Hive Relocation Day
Yesterday was an important day around here, certainly one for the hobby farmer’s history books. Maribeth visited and helped me relocate our two bee hives from their temporary waxy box homes to their permanent wooden-ware mansions. Perhaps you remember the painting day we had just before bringing the bees home? Well, now all of that artwork and passion is being enjoyed by our 79,987 buzzing, winged children.
In addition to moving the bees, we also collected several gorgeous chunks of honey comb and about 20 ounces of fresh, raw honey. Our very first harvest of the molten treasure was a surprise to me, as was seeing how much honey was still on the combs when we closed the hives and walked uphill. Just weeks after bring bees to the Lazy W, we have our own honey. Gobs and gobs of the thick, oozing beautiful stuff.
Everything went so well. The hives are abundantly healthy and have multiplied much more than I expected. The interior frames are all loaded with honey comb, capped brood and capped honey. The bees were active but gentle. Incredibly gentle. At one point I was holding a frame, gazing at the many different cells and relishing a sudden forest breeze, when I felt a heavy vibration on my right hand. At least twenty bees were clustered across my gloved knuckles, buzzing and flittering without malice. Throughout our afternoon in the bee yard, Maribeth’s arms and veil were often dotted by a dozen or more bees, and they all swam loosely and peacefully in the air around us. I never one time felt threatened.
As always, Mia kept his loving vigil. He never crossed the threshold into the bee yard, but he honked affectionately and watched us the whole time we worked. |
Smoking the bees a little calms them down, and it calms me down too. The fragrance is not terribly unlike burning sage, a Native American practice used in all kinds of prayerful rituals. |
Maribeth is using a “hive tool” to scrape that thick, luscious raw honey off of the frame. You can see its straight path there in the gold. |
I now know that a quart of raw honey weighs about three pounds. |
Horse-feathers & Happiness
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