Education


We’re in the midst of the honey harvest!  And therefore, you’re invited to our 2nd Annual Fill Your Own Bucket Day on Saturday, August 10, 2013, from 8am-5pm. See you at World Headquarters for tours of the honey house, candle making, the bees themselves, and outrageously low prices on honey.

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PRICES HAVE BEEN SET FOR the 2nd ANNUAL FILL YOUR OWN BUCKET DAY!

To fill containers under 20 pounds:  $2.95/#

To fill containers over 20 pounds: $2.75/#

There is a 60 pound total limit per person.  If you are a business who needs wholesale honey, please contact us beforehand to discuss pricing, etc.  Fill Your Own Bucket Day is meant for our retail customers, only.

Only cash or checks will be accepted for these Fill Your Own Bucket prices.

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If you bring your own (clean) containers, we’ll fill them with honey for you at a wholesale rate – ONE DAY ONLY, NO EXCEPTIONS.  Please do not show up the day before or the day after and ask us to honor these prices.  We pull all of our employees out of the field and change the setup on our entire extracting process for this one day in order to offer these prices, and that is only feasible for ONE day each summer.  Thank you in advance for understanding.

Frequently asked questions about the honey, answered: yes, the honey is 100% natural, pure, and raw.  Unfiltered, unheated.  The best sweetener for you on earth, and the best tasting to boot.  Our bees are tops, y’all, and our locations in pristine Glacier County can’t be beat.

We’ll have all of our retail stock — honey, beeswax, and gifts — available, too.  Credit/debit is fine for those purchases, as long as the internet connection holds.

Directions are here.  Mapquest/Google are not reliable.  Print these before you leave home.  Without a booster, you won’t have cell service near World Headquarters.

We hope to see you near Babb!

2013.  Glacier County Honey Co.  All Rights Reserved.

Please forgive our virtual absence.  We have been busy with the annual Montana State Beekeepers Convention and yesterday, traveling to Helena to have Brother Dear sworn in as a Montana lawyer.  In honor of that special occasion, Dad is our guest blogger.

An artificial fly is pulled gently over water so clear it appears filtered; the mellow deep sound of chords from the guitar fill the outdoors around the camp fire; the aroma from that old blue pot on the stove filled with beef barley soup fills the senses like only it and bacon can – these are just a few of the talents that my son Sanford has acquired. But he did not acquire them from me, because even though as his father I should have been teaching him how to fly fish, play the guitar, and prepare food as only a gourmet chef can, I could not teach him these things because I could not do them myself. And so it was that Sanford learned them on his own because he is good at learning things and teaching himself what he wants to know.

It is very Southern not to toot one’s own horn, and very Southern not to brag on the accomplishments of one’s close kin. But most Southerners allow as how on some rare occasions, a proud father is forgiven his misstep if he lets slip how proud he is of his children. I remember that San was about five years old when he came to me and asked me to teach him how to fly fish. I am still embarrassed that I was unable to do so, but if one’s own father did not utilize a particular talent, then it often is not passed down from father to son. I did not have that talent. So San went to the local library and checked out a video on how to fly fish and taught himself what his father could not. And over the years I have taught him what I could, but he, and his sister as well, have the most valuable of talents in the ability of self-education. Now the daughter and the son teach the father and who can be prouder than that?

But San was drifting after college; not a bad thing in itself, for when else in life does one have the leisure of drifting? There was no plan that his parents were aware of (although San, like most males, keeps his cards close to the vest), and we were worried that some drifting might turn into more drifting, which is not a good thing. As my beautiful mother of 93 years can attest, a parent really never finishes helping his or her offspring. So we suggested he try some more education because he has many interests and hobbies, and as we already knew, he could teach others how to do these things. Law school was not on the horizon as both Courtney and San, after seeing what I did everyday, had early on verbally expostulated that they would never become lawyers – one need be careful about what one says about one’s own future! He thought about it some and may have been influenced by the fact that his sister had done well in law school and seemed to enjoy her practice in Missoula; or maybe the fact that his brother had expressed a plan to go to law school in order to be an FBI agent influenced him. But his brother had died early and tragically. And that was something else I could not teach him – how to grieve for his brother, for I did not know how to grieve for him myself. At any rate he reluctantly agreed to leave the cool clear mountains, lakes and streams of his beloved Montana and travel back across the country to the crowded, humid, cacophonous street sounds of Charleston, South Carolina. I don’t think he did this for me; and I don’t really think he did this for himself. I think he did this for his brother, because his brother now could not do it for himself. San dedicated these three long years of his life to his brother, Howard. I was not a particularly good student during my education days and even though I knew Sanford had the ability to be a top student should he so choose, I was not expecting him to shine academically. I took Latin in high school and, again, I was not a top Latin scholar. But Sanford graduated Summa Cum Laude from law school, whatever that means. I think it means he did pretty well.

On October 18th, 2010 my son Sanford, on the special motion of his sister Courtney, was sworn in before the Montana Supreme Court as a member of the state Bar of Montana and also before the Federal District Judge in Helena as he was admitted to practice before the Federal Bar.

It was an especially emotional moment for this father to watch his children appear before such august bodies, as  did his grandfather, father, sister, uncle and first cousin before him. So please excuse this proud father for writing of how proud he is of this fine man and this fine woman. Hark, America, “things are gonna be fine” as we say in the South; for there are many other fine men and women like Sanford and Courtney throughout the country. America is in good hands with talented individuals such as these. We love you, Courtney and San.

2010.  Glacier County Honey Co. All Rights Reserved.

I put in twelve hours in Cut Bank today.  Despite my exhaustion, I was singing along to one of Pseudo Sister’s fabulous “driving CDs” all the way home, my spirits completely lifted by the spectacular sunset I was driving into, and the plethora of calves and foals lining the fences of Highway 464/Duck Lake Road.  My thoughts turned to my baby brother, Howard, about whom I have written much, and yet so little, on this blog.  And for once, my ruminations on How were upbeat, and not downtrodden.  Just as I leaned the Tahoe-ho into “the ninety” on 464, the light shifted.  My vehicle lit up with rainbows, careening off the mirrors, refracting through the many cracks in my windshield, bathing Buck and I in a spectrum of vivid color.

And I knew Howard was with me.

I don’t know what happens when we die.  There are some days when my faith in God, god, Buddha, A Greater Power, is a tangible thing, pulsing through my veins and instilling me with greater courage than I had before, to face the day.  I suppose that is Faith.  But I have been nothing if not honest in my blogging, and I cannot say that my faith is a tangible thing all the time.  Though I am often jealous of the peace that others’ Faith seems to give to them, I am filled with doubt that everything happens for a reason, and religious sympathy cards weary me.

That said, I know Howard is with me when I see a rainbow.  And I suppose that makes Howard my faith in God.  That Howard shows himself to me is my faith that there is life after death, that a benevolent God will reunite us with those to whom we did not get to say an earthly goodbye, safe travels, I love you.

The day Howard died, Sissy immediately flew from St. Simons to be with us.  I’ve never asked her much about her flight, with just she and the pilot, but I imagine it was similar to what I guess Brother Dear’s flight home from Texas was like, what my solo drive home from law school was like, where I passed four hours bargaining with God at each turn of Highway 460, I-77, and U.S. 58.  The icy wretchedness.  The black furor.  The crushing despair.  Like being pushed from an airplane and yanking frantically on a parachute that won’t inflate.  Later, Sissy told me that she saw a stunning rainbow from the window of the tiny plane, and knew that Howard was with her.

I’ve seen a lot of rainbows since August 27, 2004.

In July 2006, my family threw the first “Hillstock/Hillhouseapalooza,” at Hillhouse, the home we purchased in Howard’s honor near Babb, just east of Glacier National Park.  Friends came from near and far to celebrate Howard’s life with us, bringing with them their dogs, their tents, and their memories of Howard, which they graciously shared.  A gaggle of us hiked up to Shangri-la, in the Many Glacier Valley, a place Howard loved, and the last trail I shared with him.  When we returned to Hillhouse, some of us more exhausted than others, a rain shower freshened up the yard during dinner, and then an ebullient rainbow appeared, directly over Hillhouse.

But even so, for a while after Howard’s death, I thought that I would never return to Montana, though my original plans had called for attaining my JD and becoming a member of the Montana Bar.  I did not think that I had enough courage left in me to once more move across the country and start again, 2600 miles away from my family.  If there was any so-called silver lining to Howard’s death, it was that my bonds to my family, and particularly my brother, were cemented to my soul in a way that they had not been before his death.  But, as I’ve said before, time passed.  We survived each black anniversary of Christmas, Easter, Howard’s date of birth, Howard’s date of death, and Mother’s Day, which for some reason has struck me since Howard’s death as unnaturally cruel in many respects, though by that I don’t mean that fathers suffer any less than do mothers.

By law school’s end, I was ready to resume my dream.  And so March 2007 found me house hunting near Missoula, Montana, with Brother Dear and a then-boyfriend who has since become a treasured friend.  Though I thought I was prepared to buy a home in Missoula County, my emotions about leaving the South and beginning again continued to trill up and down, like a flute player screeching through her first scales.  It didn’t help that real estate was reaching its peak, and I couldn’t afford anything grander than an Absolute Dump.  But at the end of the very first day of house hunting, a Montana-sized rainbow arched gracefully over the Bitterroot Valley, and I knew Howard was giving me his blessing to leave the South behind.

That next September, I drove from Missoula up to West Glacier, to meet my parents for a drink in honor of Howard’s birthday.  Approaching the spot on Highway 2 where the mountains part and you get your first glimpse into the heart of Glacier National Park, a triple rainbow poured out of the clouds, literally marking the entrance to Glacier, where my parents waited for me.

And this past July, the morning after I joyfully married Honeydew, Howard congratulated us:

Thanks, Lil How.  You continue to give me faith in a lot of things, including that somewhere, over the rainbow.

Photo credits to Frank Cavuoto and Marta Farmer.

2010.  Glacier County Honey Co.  All Rights Reserved.