fame VIII

As “they” say, it’s amazing what you can learn to do, for love.  Especially since putting my lawyering hat on the shelf with my predictable paychecks, pressed suits and pumps, Glacier County Honey Co. has demanded my education in a number of realms.

When Honeydew and I decided to put on our 1st Annual Fill Your Own Bucket Day, we further decided there was no point in going to all the effort to hook the honey tanks up for a day of retail use unless we went full out and advertised it.  Not paying for advertising meant I had to learn to write a press release, which I did with the help of Western Montana’s Glacier Country’s Tia Troy.  Thanks, Tia!

Photo credit to Patrick Record, Daily Interlake.

That press release lead to another little story about Glacier County Honey, and all that we have learned to do with it and for it.  For love, of course.  Because despite the wake-up-gasping nightmares about honey extracting disasters, uncontrollable weather patterns, and unpredictable bee health, Honeydew and I have never been happier than at the helm of our little bee biz.  As always, thanks to our customers, Facebook friends, Tweeps, and blog readers, for all the support along the way.  Here’s the latest on what the press says about our love affair: Beekeepers Relish Remote Locale for Honey Business / Lynnette Hintze, Daily Interlake.

Photo credit to Patrick Record, Daily Interlake.

2012.  Glacier County Honey Co.  Photo credits to Patrick Record/Daily Interlake.  All Rights Reserved.

 

what three years of marriage looks like

When Honeydew and I were weddin’ plannin’, July 25 was the date I had my heart set on, as this time of year is the only time of year in Montana when it is reliably fabulously temperate.  Yes, usually the rest of July is lovely, too, but I’ve yet to know a July 25th that wasn’t beyond gorgeous.

No, Honeydew told me, that is the busiest week of the year in beekeeping.

Oh, whatever, I replied in all my beekeeping ignorance, we’ll be fine.

So he let me have my way.

And I’m pretty sure it’s because he knew that we would, in fact, be entirely too busy to even remember our anniversary — as was the mutual fact yesterday — much less celebrate it.

Yesterday, Honeydew pulled thousands of pounds of honey, and I bottled hundreds of pounds of the same.  We wrapped endless gorgeous beeswax candles and ornaments, polished brass candlesticks, ironed tablecloths, and in general pulled a solid 16 hour work day.  At the end of it all, Nan — who’d kept Maggie Rose happy all day — appeared with veggie and pork sliders — and all of our friends convened to help us label the thousands of bottles of honey stacked all over the living room.

I hope they’re still our friends when the Red Ants Pants Music Festival is over with!  See y’all there.

And Honeydew, happy anniversary.  I love you so.

2012.  Glacier County Honey Co.  All Rights Reserved.

 

a Glacier National Park love story

These two.

Many summers worked in the shadows of Glacier National Park.

Many mountains climbed.

And eventually, promises made for many, many years to come.

July 16, 2005, Sun Point, Glacier National Park, Montana.

June 28, 2012, Sun Point, Glacier National Park, Montana.

Happy one-day-belated anniversary to my 2nd favorite* Glacier National Park love story, Emily Deer and Jeff Vick!

*the favorite, of course, being my own with Honeydew – no offense, y’all!

May all the seasons ahead be as wonderful as those stolen summers working near Glacier.

2012. Glacier County Honey Co.  All Rights Reserved.

 

The Year of Warehome Living

One year ago this week, Honeydew and I moved into the Warehome that we’d spent the summer, and to our surprise, fall and early winter, building.  It wasn’t finished, by any means.  Sunlight streamed through the gaps around the windows and doors, and we quickly ran out of caulk.  The propane radiant floor heat we’d been so excited about proved no match for -40, and a quick trip to Great Falls, two and a half hours south, had to be made for an enormous wood stove.  The cell phone booster didn’t work, so we had no way to take orders, via phone or via internet.  It was the start of the Christmas rush, I was about four months pregnant, Honeydew was preparing to leave for the California almond pollination season, and we were, despite the 45 degree temperatures each morning in our family room, incredibly happy.

Posing in front of our Warehome, November 2010.

And we still are.

Honeydew returned home just as the calendar switched over to May.  I waited for Maggie Rose’s arrival at my parents’ home in Whitefish, just minutes away from medical care, and Honeydew waited in the Warehome, caulking and patching and planning the next round of improvements.

And then it was summer, and the mad rush to get the supers on the hives, and then off, and extracted, was on, and there was no time to finish doorstoops or outdoor lights or the porch that I longed for.

And now it’s once again early Winter, and Honeydew and I are amazed by all that we haven’t yet accomplished.  And by how much we have.

The Warehome is grand in some ways, humble in others, but most importantly, she’s Home.

I wrote last year that I am glad that the Warehome kept Honeydew and I from being able to build our Dream Home right off the bat.  And I still am.  Each time I snap a picture of Maggie Rose rolling across our concrete floors in her walker, or bouncing in her jumper in the beeswax room, as I pour honey and candles, I look down the road and hope that one day she’ll be compelled by the story of how her Daddy and I got started in this industry.  I hope she’ll understand that Home isn’t created by wainscoting or oil rubbed bronze fixtures, but by the pile of Carhartt jackets at the door, the hand me down couch just right for napping, and a grandmother’s wedding china housed in any sort of cabinet, whether plywood or mahogany.

2010 Christmas Card.

2011.  Glacier County Honey Co.  All Rights Reserved.

 

on eras

This morning, I am searching my brain for the right words, which is quite frustrating to me, as my fingers should be flying across the keyboard.  For the first time in months, we have both taken a day off to do nothing, and Honeydew lies contentedly on the couch with our baby, watching Saturday morning cartoons.  In my office, I am surrounded by reminders of bills to pay and checkbooks to balance and Quickbooks accounts to analyze, but we have agreed that I will take a much needed hour and write.

Today marks seven years – seven - since my youngest brother, Howard, died in a fraternity house fire, along with two of his friends.

I am sitting here, sipping my coffee half-n-half, wishing I had an archaeology degree – like Brother Dear.

Looking at the last photo taken of my intact pre-Honeydew family, I think that such a degree might help me to write about what I have decided are the eras of my lives.  The word Paleozoic comes to mind, but then again, I am only thirty-one.

There is certainly the pre-Howard’s-death era, a gloriously innocent and privileged time in my life that lasted 24 years, as I was 24 when he died.

And there is obviously the post-Howard era.  Not so glorious.

But this morning, after Maggie had her breakfast, the three of us curled up on our bed, under our sunny, western facing window, and Maggie Rose commenced her morning routine: cooing, smiling, and laughing delightedly with her whole heart.

And I realized that for me, the immediate-post-Howard era is over.

I am not saying that Maggie’s birth filled in all the potholes in my soul that Howard’s death left behind.  Until the day that I die, I will keep the memories of the black grief that defined the immediate-post-Howard era, and the hard lessons learned.

But I can say that Maggie’s arrival has gifted me with a new set of tires with which to navigate said potholes.

Her birth does not make Howard’s death, and gaping presence in our lives, easier or better or different in its effect on my ability to handle screaming smoke detectors or gorgeous young men bursting with potential – dead or alive.

But from the moment Honeydew said, slowly, in a wondrous tone I’d never hear him use before, “It’s a … it’s a … girl!” I have known that I am in a new era in my life.

Go on, Mama said.

And I am glad that I listened to my Mama, that I did not let paralyzing grief turn into paralyzing fear, or rejection of joy.

Howard, how I wish you could hold Maggie on my couch this fine morning.  Love you so, Littlest Brother.

2011.  Glacier County Honey Co.  All Rights Reserved.

 

it’s all in the details

I love weddings.

I believe that a “good wedding” needs just a very few things to make it very good: (1) a bride and groom committed to one another and (2) thoughtful details.

Fabulous champagne, couture gowns, canary diamonds – these are all lovely, but oh-so-not-necessary in the makings of a good weddin’.

Case in point – I went a very good weddin’ over the weekend:

Gorgeous flowers lovingly arranged by a reformed Southern-Belle-Friend-of-the-Bride’s.  Love that gal.  Love her fleurs.

Adorable area for kiddos to frolic in.

Old friends, thrilled for the bride + groom.

Adorable post card guest book.

Precious date, even if he did forget that whole belt detail ….

Cheers to the happy couple!

2011.  Glacier County Honey Co.  All Rights Reserved.

 

Chief Mountain

As you know, Honeydew and I celebrated our wedding anniversary on Monday.

Last year, we climbed Chief Mountain — with permission — to celebrate our love for one another.

We ate wedding cake at the top and left an offering honoring our dear friend, Lil Bob Burns, another good man who died too young.

We read our vows to one another and wondered what the coming year would bring.

Well, it brought a beautiful baby, and a c-section that prevented me from being able to climb mighty Chief again this year.  And so we drove to Chief’s base, and toasted each other, our business, our baby, and Lil Bob.

I like this new tradition.  I love Chief Mountain.  I thank those who gave us the permission to go there, and to be in the presence of something greater than there are words for, just like love.

2011.  Glacier County Honey Co.  All Rights Reserved.

 

sneakin’ a cookie

Today marks the start of Hillstock/Hillhouseapalooza, the party we throw each summer in honor of Howard Hillhouse Stone, my youngest brother, who died too young, seven years ago.

Seven years ago.  Hardly seems real.

The above picture of Howard is one of my favorites – his mischievous streak would certainly have approved of Hillstock/Hillhouseapalooza, which generally involves tubing, dancing, Beer Olympics-ing, and most importantly, hiking together with a large group of those friends and family who love us best, in Howard’s honor.  I look forward to this week of the year all year, and my heart overflows with love for those friends and family who are here to say, silently, we haven’t forgotten.

Let the games begin!

2011.  Glacier County Honey Co.  All Rights Reserved.

 

Ithaca

Ithaca

When you set out on your journey to Ithaca,
pray that the road is long,
full of adventure, full of knowledge.
The Lestrygonians and the Cyclops,
the angry Poseidon — do not fear them:
You will never find such as these on your path,
if your thoughts remain lofty, if a fine
emotion touches your spirit and your body.
The Lestrygonians and the Cyclops,
the fierce Poseidon you will never encounter,
if you do not carry them within your soul,
if your soul does not set them up before you.

Pray that the road is long.
That the summer mornings are many, when,
with such pleasure, with such joy
you will enter ports seen for the first time;
stop at Phoenician markets,
and purchase fine merchandise,
mother-of-pearl and coral, amber and ebony,
and sensual perfumes of all kinds,
as many sensual perfumes as you can;
visit many Egyptian cities,
to learn and learn from scholars.

Always keep Ithaca in your mind.
To arrive there is your ultimate goal.
But do not hurry the voyage at all.
It is better to let it last for many years;
and to anchor at the island when you are old,
rich with all you have gained on the way,
not expecting that Ithaca will offer you riches.

Ithaca has given you the beautiful voyage.
Without her you would have never set out on the road.
She has nothing more to give you.

And if you find her poor, Ithaca has not deceived you.
Wise as you have become, with so much experience,
you must already have understood what Ithacas mean.

Constantine P. Cavafy (1911)

Our dear friend and officiant, Torian Donohoe, read this poem to Honeydew and I at the start of our marriage ceremony.  It is a poem I loved long before I met him, and now it has taken on a deeper meaning for me, and I am enjoying defining and redefining our Ithacas with him every day of our marriage.  Luckily for me, although Honeydew wouldn’t refer to the highs and lows of marriage as so many Ithacas, I know he feels the same way.

Happy anniversary, my love.

2011.  Glacier County Honey Co.  Photo credits to Tom Whisenand.  All Rights Reserved.

 

Mr. Cain, 1998-2011

Cain, my family’s beloved canine companion of thirteen years, passed away yesterday, his big head resting safely in my dad’s strong hands, his ears filled with the sounds of my mom’s sweet voice, her Georgia cadences comforting him until the very end.

In a family of dogs and dog lovers, Cain stood out to all us, from the very start, as someone special.  I wrote a good bit about him previously, and if you didn’t know him, you might enjoy reading a little bit about his life with us.

Looking back over thirteen years, I thought that Cain had taught me about the importance of never missing a campfire attended by those you love, or perhaps about how to help those you love to grieve: just sit by their sides, and wait.

In recent months, I thought that Cain had taught me about aging, and how to help someone you love keep their dignity even as it tries daily to slip away from them.

But yesterday, after my parents made the heart wrenching decision to end Cain’s pain and put him down, peacefully with the help of our gentle, calm vet, I realized that Cain’s lasting lesson for me will be about loyalty: that dawg just wouldn’t leave us, no matter what.

And that’s what I’ll always remember about our Best Dawg, the one who just wouldn’t leave.

And as hard as the decision was to put him down, despite the fact that on recent mornings I would enter the garage and wish he had passed away quietly in his sleep, saving him pain and us that decision, I’m glad Cain wouldn’t leave.  We got to say goodbye to him, to speak words we were never able to speak to others we’ve loved and lost.

In his last days, we took him truck riding, gave him bites of his favorite chicken off the grill, and sat with him in the grass, watching the sunlight play on Gretchen’s Mirror.

Then we gave him a little face time with Maggie Rose, the only grandchild who will meet Mr. Cain, though he only had eyes for his Mama, as usual.

On his last night, Brother Dear built Cain one last campfire.

And as Mama said, Mr. Cain was born a dog, but died a gentleman.

We’ll miss your kind presence, Mr. Cain.  Thank you for being Best Dawg.

2011.  Glacier County Honey Co.  All Rights Reserved.