This farm has always had beehives. Well not always always, but Dad was maybe twelve when he got his first hive? That's some years (due respect and all.)
In the bee stakes I'm a bit of an observer, not because I'm not riveted by the wee things, I think they're awesome and I'm a huge honey fan, but bees were something Adam particularly wanted to do, so he does the bees.
A week or so ago, we… er… they robbed our hives for the first time. Dad had sold his hives and honey extractor to someone before we decided to move down here. That someone turned out to be an awesome chick called Sharon who we found by accident and totally love. She's hilarious. Turns out Dad's hives are kinda cranky, maybe because they're elderly and established. They're safely housed in Berry and in Shaz's capable hands – they only occasionally get knocked over by a sheep – and our two new hives have been humming along peacefully here since September.
Sharon returned Dad's extractor to us though, which was truly awesome because it's a little bit of farm history. And it still works well.
See Adam's right hand in the photos above? Quite swollen? Three bee stings, right on top of each other. Wasn't bothering him at this point but by evening it was incredibly itchy and pretty sore. I went to the chemist and got him some antihistemine to help the itch. I'd forgotten, and so had he, that he really shouldn't take antihistemine. It knocks him out.
I was cleaning up after dinner and heard a loud thump and discovered him in a heap at the bottom of the stairs. I tried not to panic, he looked completely unconscious, but he was very zen, said he hadn't felt a thing, he had just thought he was at the bottom when he had about eight steps left to go. Generally unharmed, just knocked out. No worries, put some honey on the sting next time. Or crushed garlic, or lavender oil. And no more antihistemine.
Honey on a croissant, anyone?
Thank you bees.