Bare feet and honey bees
In my early days growing up on the farm at the start of each school year my broth ers and I received a new pair of brogans-high-top shoes made of thick unlined leather with stiff soles attached by tacks. These shoes were supposed to last us until the next year. To keep the leather from cracking we had a jar of oil from which we treated them several times during the winter.
By spring our feet were chaffing because we were outgrowing the shoes. They in turn were now wearing out. The laces had broken and were tied in knots. Often their soles had come loose and flapped as we walked until the shoe tree was gotten out of the pantry and new tacks secured the soles, often penetrating the insoles. By March we were begging to be allowed to go barefoot. If the weather had warmed a little by April 1, we were allowed to put the old shoes aside in the after-noon and go without them each day after school until about the first of May.
By early summer the soles of our feet had hardened enough that we could walk without pain over most everything.
Crushed stones did not bother us and briars rarely penetrated the skin.
As a child, I loved to run. Bare feet gave me freedom and I raced around the farm unencumbered, accompanied by an old hound dog, with the wind blowing through my hair and the sun tanning my bare shoulders. When rain showers left mud puddles I ran through them with glee, enjoying the feel of mud between my toes.
In cotton chopping time, I trudged down row after row with my toes digging into the hot soil without pain. But there was one problem that I often faced.
J. J. kept a few hives of bees to provide honey for the family and a few gallons for regular customers. Our yard was full of white clover which was like a magnet for the bees. All day long they gathered pollen and carried it to the hives to make beautiful golden honey.
I learned early that bare feet and honey bees can produce a painful confrontation. I could walk over gravel, briars, and other hazards that rarely penetrated the soles of my bare feet, but the soles of my feet never became inured to the stinger of a honey bee. It was not unusual to see me hopping around on one foot counting to ten until I could pull the toxic dagger out of my bare foot. The honey was sweet, but the sting was not.
Honey seems to have been a staple of man’s diet from the dawn of history. It is the standard for sweetness in scripture. It was a staple item when available. John the Baptist lived in the wilderness prior to his announcement of the coming of Jesus. I believe it was Matthew who stated that he lived on locusts and honey.
Honey is sweet, but it comes with a price. After years of beekeeping and taking of their bounty the day came when he had a serious reaction to a sting and was forced to rid himself of his hives.
I was sorry for J. J.’s reaction to the sting, but I shed few tears over the loss of the bees. I’ll get my sweetening from sugar.
