I grew up during the 30's on a farm in South Dakota. Evidently my Mother dropped me off at her relatives when I was a tiny baby and returned many years later. In lieu of feeling abandoned, I was grateful for a wholesome upbringing, surrounded by caring, non-judgemental people.As the Great Depression slumbered in the cities, all the siblings and their spouses (with the exception of my Mother) worked 80 acres of black fertile soil to feed them and others during this time of starvation.
Uncle Oliver was married to Aunt Dutch, my Mother's youngest sister. At my earliest recollection, they were still courting and I remember them holding hands and kissing when they were alone. After their wedding, Oliver moved his horses from his parents farm, to my Grandparents and with that came a pony for me to ride.
Aunt Dutch and I would get in the Ford coupe with the rumble seat and head over to Oliver's parents farm for honey. His Mom kept bees, who she declared, maintained perfect health. She'd catch 3 or4 bees and put them in her stocking. They'd buzz around and eventually sting her. She'd say this bee venom was like a shot of health. I never doubted it because she was still keeping her bees at 108.
Uncle Oliver and I had many conversations from the spiritual to the sublime as I was growing up. What a treasure to have someone like Oliver as a teacher.
As times got better, they moved to their own farm but never had kids of their own. The picture above is from their farm that I inherited. I no longer have it, but memories serve me well. Whenever I eat honey, the bees in the stocking tape rolls in my mind. :)
