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Local Focus – Global Reach

Posted by MFish

I was discharged from the Navy in 56.
Not many jobs were available.
Bucked hay bales for about 3 days.
The skin between my fingers
had blistered from using hay hooks.
Yes I was wearing leather gloves.

My next job was working for
Charles Porter, who had an Apiary.
In late summer, we would go to
his Bee hives. Wear long sleeve shirts,
with collars and sleeves buttoned tight,
put on the hat with the screen mesh,
pull on my gloves, then to the hives,
to take the Honey by lifting out the comb
that was covered with Bees.
Puff up the Smoker, brush the Bees
off with a soft hand broom.
Didn't want to harm the Bees.
Harvest the Honey but leave some
for the Bees would have food.
Go back to the building, where
Mr. Porter had a centrifuge to extract
the Honey. Put in the combs, turn on the
steam, turn on the centrifuge and we would
have golden Honey. Fill up the 5 gallon tins,
stack them away and repeat the process
until the end of the day.
The combs were not thrown away as
the beeswax would be harvested.
I couldn't wear gloves inside, as the
Honey could be very sticky so I would
be stung 10 or more times, on the
back of my hands until they looked
like Mickey Mouse hands, fat and puffy.
I would finish up, change my clothes
then go to the bus garage to drive
the afternoon bus, #16 and head to
the grade school, and high school.
You did what could to bring in money.
I would also have some sweet Honey.
Great times to remember most of all
especially when we are heading towards
the beautiful Fall.

A gentle breeze blows across my brow
as I dig holes for fall plantings.
The problem, I have, with
planting European Bluebells,
is the many roots that grow,
beneath the tree. Not big,
just small roots that must be cut.
Instructions are to plant under a tree
and they will multiply.
I'm anxious to see the results
next Spring.

Sometimes when I'm writing,
I would swear, my mind
Has thoughts of it's own.

With pen in hand, I write
The words that pop into
This brain of mine.
Writing fast, scribbling here,
Unable to read the words
As they fly by, as I attempt to
Write. Oh my goodness
There is no period in sight
To end all this rambling
Prose. There. Finally one
Did appear, but what happened
To the commas?
Did they disappear?
I wish I knew, for it would
Make it clear, that my
Writing sense is not here.

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