A Honey of a Month

Honey1Here we are, almost halfway through “National Honey Month.”

I hope you’ve properly observed it by enjoying that golden gooey substance in its array of uses, from slathering it on bread, your face or an open wound to treating a cough, allergies or dandruff. Not to mention it’s a natural memory boost, energy pump and sleep aid.

I’m not sure how your body will distinguish whether you’re ingesting elixir dollops to prep for a nap or a 5K, but trust the magic of honey to know which cells to succor in there.

I’m a big fan of honey.

Probably because I sprung from the loins of a honey junkie. My dad lovvvvesss it. He puts it on any carb that will hold it up.

I remember waking up many Saturday mornings to the scent of honey softening in a pot on the stove so Dad would have it to make his favorite concoction: milk, honey, raisins and broken bread pieces combined in a tall glass and sprinkled with cinnamon.

Eww, soggy bread.

While I like honey on and in many things, I never shared his fetish for this fusion of flavors, but apparently it’s a nostalgia thing.

He grew up on a ranch where lunch was called “dinner” and the biggest meal of the day, then the evening meal was called “supper” which was usually a small simple meal of bread broken up in milk and garnished with any other fixins’ from the cupboard to doctor it—like honey. The spoonful of sugar made the mush meal go down, which endeared honey to him.

Awww, how sweet! (Honey pun intended.)

My dad was a Renaissance man because he was a devoted honey disciple long before Winnie the Pooh and Dr. Oz made it hip. Honey is all the rage now since the “raw, clean, organic, natural, holistic” movement broke out luring us into whole food stores to be duped into paying twice as much for groceries.

The nickname for honey of “liquid gold” is not just about its valuable properties but reflects the cost, which is ouch by the ounce.

I think this is why beekeeping has become as hip as honey. I can count seven neighbors who keep bees, and I live in the sticks and don’t have that many neighbors. Beehives are the new rabbit hutch for bumpkins.

I’m not complaining. All this precious neighborly nectar comes my way in the form of gifts and goodies on my doorstep.

There’s one neighbor who mixes his own flavored and creamed honeys that are To Die For. And I can just go over to his house to get it. No climbing trees like Pooh Bear, or making an annual pilgrimage to South Dakota like my friend does for a certain brand of honey her family has trusted and consumed for decades, or going to the whole food store and trading my firstborn for a few precious drops.

Keeper SuitI would consider becoming a beekeeper, but have you seen the outfit? It’s ghastly. It does nothing for the figure and veiled hats are so “royal wedding.”

Besides, I consider having bees as pets to be right up there with spiders, and you already know how I feel about that.

 

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