What an utterly gorgeous weekend. Sunshine, cooler weather hovering in the low 20's, completed yard work, clean birdhouse, ready for next spring's inhabitants. (Thank heavens we did not find any unfortunate surprises in there as was the case last year, this year they all appear to have fledged.) Even the bees have been busy searching out those last blossoms before the sudden temperature drop which is inevitable.
Bees have always been fascinating to me. I remember when I was a little girl, maybe four or five years old, I was having a stayover at my grandfather's farm in Saskatchewan. I enjoyed spending time with him, trailing behind while he puttered around with the chores and the farm work. He always looked me in the eye when I talked to him, and he always answered me whenever I had something four-year-oldish to say no matter how menial must have sounded to him.
I remember one day we were in the garden. It must have been late summer as it was lush with vegetables, berries, blossoms, flowering shrubs, and most notably a great number of gladiolas in every conceivable colour towering high above my head. It was during a careful study of the gladiolas when I began to notice a significant number of bees buzzing everywhere around me. Naturally I panicked. Immediately attentive my grandfather took the time to calm my fears. He proceeded to explain how the bees had no interest in me whatsoever as they were far too busy collecting nectar to make honey for the winter. Moving slowly and calmly so as to avoid startling them, he began to pet some of the bees lightly on their backs to demonstrate. I watched him intently as he did this, then I did as well. Amazingly, the bees did not seem to mind in the least and continued on busily without so much as a bother. This moment was significant for me and I have never forgotten it. I have also never forgotten my grandfather's reaction when I moved to share my new found love with a nearby wasp. Clearly this friendship was not to be prescribed to the wasp population, and from a distance I was tutored on its voracious nature.
He is gone now, my grandfather. He never knew it, but he gave me two precious gifts that day... a lifelong fondness for bees and the very special memory of a little girl, surrounded by the warm buzzing of bee-filled gladiolas, in the garden with her grandfather.
Nice remembrance J
Posted by: petrox | September 16, 2012 at 09:51 PM
What a beautiful post Janine.
It put a fair old lump in my throat. Such a lovely story and your grandad sounds a wonderful man and much like mine.
My all time favourite book is the Secret Life of Bees - have you ever read it. If not, you must.
Best wishes
Sophie
Posted by: Sophie | September 17, 2012 at 06:58 AM
Rosemary----for remembrance. What a lovely post!
Posted by: steph | September 17, 2012 at 04:59 PM
What love to have such a memory!
Posted by: Laura | September 17, 2012 at 07:55 PM
Such beautiful photos Janine and what a lovely picture you conjure up of a small girl in a bee-laden garden with her grandfather. To be cherished always.
Posted by: Thomasina Tittlemouse | September 18, 2012 at 05:22 AM
Oh...i love your grandfather!
and i love the word "Saskatchewan"
i don't know what it means
i know i could go look it up
but
right now
i'm loving saying it over and over in my mind
and thinking of you, little
and your grandfather
Posted by: zephyr | September 18, 2012 at 02:02 PM
How lovely Vicki, thank you. Thanks to all of you for your lovely lovely words :)
For those of you who are wondering, Saskatchewan is one of the prairie provinces in Canada xox
Posted by: Olallieberry | September 18, 2012 at 04:19 PM
A beautiful post. Grandparents are to be cherished :D
Loving the birdie fabric you've printed there!
Posted by: Annie @ knitsofacto | September 18, 2012 at 05:11 PM