By Harold Brummett
Denmark Star Route
May has arrived and it feels like the June of my youth. I checked the beehives, of which
I have two. Age and common sense has reduced the number of hives down to two, one
of which is struggling.
The other hive is ready for harvest. Pulling the honey is something that Dad and I
traditionally did at the end of June and here it is the first week of May and it is time to
harvest.
According to my father the traditional Mississippi hive was a square box about one foot
square and three to four feet tall. Inside there were installed two cross bars. One cross
bar was about a foot or so from the bottom and the other placed at the top. The top was
removed for harvest and the honeycomb taken down to the bottom cross bar but no
further.
My grandmother with jet-black hair tied up in a bun and a traditional dress for the era,
my father dressed in bib overalls both without any sort of protective clothing worked the
bees.
It was reported that my grandfather who remained at a distance watching the
proceeding soon retreated to the house under pressure from the bees. While the bees
tolerated my grandmother and my father, disliked my grandfather.
I am not looking forward to the summer and the oppressive heat and humidity. What I
am able to do I will do early morning or late afternoon. The cool reprieve of the last
couple of days is a weak farewell to spring and putting plants in the ground. Plants
established before the withering heat will do well. Plants planted too close to the furnace
blast of summer will not do as well.
This week I plan to don my ‘bees-suit’ and harvest the honey. I will have the honey
extractor washed and dried, get a couple of volunteers to help process and bottle the
honey. I will not get a great lot of honey, enough for my family for a year. I remember
my father spinning the extractor working to get every drop while chewing a chunk of
beeswax.
A sweet reward of reliving the process once again.