Trash

Day 183: Trash

Halfway there! It's all downhill from here.

I was exercising on the elliptical machine this morning, next to the washing machine in the basement, when I realized there is work to be done down there. Keeping bees tends to take over every available space, and I'm not a beekeeper any more. Contaminated wax (the mice got into it), bushel baskets, cheesecloth for straining honey, coffee cans for collecting comb, clementine boxes for smoker fodder, queen boxes, mesh. It can all go. And I found buckets of used paint rollers, empty plaster boxes, sponges and other detritus from past household projects. I must have been so exhausted at the end of the project, I never finished the clean-up. And what about all this other trash? Where did it come from?

I  moved all the tools from the backroom - our Michigan basement - to the front closet under the porch. I'd emptied out the under-the-porch closet to make room to build bee boxes, but now all that is gone. There's room to organize the tools again. 

It's surprising how long it is taking to get used to not being a beekeeper any more, considering that I'd only been a beekeeper for three years. There's something about bees that just gets into your heart and blood. It's hard to forget about them.

It's also hard to remember to be afraid of them. Today, I was privileged to have a tour of the Clara and Henry Ford Estate in Dearborn. Like everyone else, I left my purse behind in the Ford billiard room. Only when their horticulture manager pointed out a yellow jacket nest did the Epipen - tucked away in a zippered pocket in my handbag back in the billard room - enter my mind. I saw many beautiful plants, and many beautiful bees - honey, sweat and bumble - all over the Estate. I felt no fear.

What are the odds that I'd get stung, anyway? And we've all got cell phones.