After the day filling up syrup feeders, hammering lids, and swinging buckets onto the flat bed, I was done for. I’ve never been much of a night owl, and motherhood and beekeeping haven’t exactly increased my ability to stay up late. So I took myself and my book to bed about 8:30 p.m. I read for a while and then glanced at the clock.
I looked out of the window that sits over my bed.
Yes, 9:25 p.m.
I thought about throwing back the covers, rousing Honeydew from the NBA playoffs, grabbing the frisbee.
But instead I cracked the window, letting the dandelion pollen and the bluejays’ bickering drift in on the breeze. I closed my eyes against the fading sun and thought about the coming solstice, the coming July-in-Montana, the coming backbreaking, sticky work of harvest.
I thought of all the winter nights spent poring over seed catalogues, The Climber’s Guide to Glacier, the Patagonia spring collection, and I again considered heading outside to celebrate the lingering light.
But while I debated, all the hours I had already spent outside in those life giving rays must have caught up with me, and I dreamt of the red saddle between Mt. Altyn and Mt. Henkel, of fresh honey dripping from the comb, of peach ice cream right out of the churn. I woke up and knew, as I’ve known every June I’ve paid Montana taxes, that every moment of the black hole depths of winter solstice was worth it.
2012. Glacier County Honey Co. All Rights Reserved.