Pleasant Places

July 3, 2020

It finally happened! Ever since we nearly got arrested in Cuba for driving a Russian sidecar motorcycle the wrong way on a one-way street, Linda has refused to ride with me. She says the sidecar looks “dorky,” but I think it brings back memories she’d rather forget. Did I mention the bike had no brakes and that if I got stopped, my host claimed he would say he didn’t know me? Which would mean I was also driving a stolen motorcycle. She had visions of nobody ever hearing from us again.

Today, she said, “I’ll ride with you, but not in the sidecar. I get it; at our age, it’s hard to get in and out of. We fastened flags to the luggage rack, and off we went, Grand Marshalls in a renegade Fourth of July tractor parade. As we started down the road, Linda leaned forward. “You have often wondered what might have been had you been assigned a city church. You’d never have gotten to lead a Fourth of July tractor parade through town.” No, I guess not. 

I wouldn’t have been able to keep bees, either. After a hiatus of twenty years, I’m back in the bee business! I doubt we’ll enjoy any honey this year; it’s more important that the colony builds up strength for the winter. The old beekeeper’s ditty is truth: 

“Swarm in May, Worth a load of hay.

Swarm in June, Worth a silver spoon.

Swarm in July, Ain’t worth a fly.”

My colonies didn’t come from swarms, but from nucs, short for nucleus, five frames of bees, brood, and honey, along with a queen—standard method of starting a new colony. It’s good to be back.

The parade over, Linda got to spend time with one of her best friends who is battling cancer, then was introduced to some alpacas owned by a young woman from our church. The psalm says it well: “The lines have fallen to me in pleasant places.” Yes, they have, and we are thankful.