THE HONEY FARM

When Grandma met Louis
it was love at first sight,
with eyes just for each other
they were higher than a kite.

On the evening of their wedding
we gave them a shivery,
and found them in the rocking chair
she was sitting on his knee.

So obvious for all to see
their faces all aglow,
we were all so happy for them
all their love was there to show.

In the happy years that followed
I spent summer weeks with them,
and each morning woke to cowbells
as they went to pasture in the glen.

The smell of farm fresh eggs a-frying
on the wood stove in the kitchen,
Grandma’s homemade bread and butter
for these goodies I was itching.

There was a cup of green tea
pan fried potatoes and some bacon,
the smell was oh so heavenly
my empty tummy was all aching.

Replete with morning’s repast
I ventured out to seek,
all the creatures in the barnyard
to give each one a peek.

There was a big eyed baby calf
so beautiful to see,
I fed him milk from out a pail
under the watchful eyes of Louis.

Out behind the homestead
was a gnarled old apple tree,
but also boxes were nearby
filled with the dreaded honey bees.

It seemed the bees were everywhere
they seemed angry in the heat,
and they chased me to the house
a hasty trail I had to beat.

There was a shed to cap the racks
of their nectar golden, sweet,
I would chance a visit to it
some honeycomb to eat.

At night we’d sit outside awhile
as the light began to fade,
bats would swoop and dive so close
boy, was I afraid.

At bedtime, in trepidation
I would climb the creaky stairs,
alone and trembling in my boots
there were shadows everywhere.

Once in my bed I laid all stiff
expecting God knows what,
the only action I did get
were mosquitos I had to swat.

I heard the mice within the walls
scurrying here and there,
I made sure my toes were covered
so they wouldn’t bite me unawares.

Before I knew it morning’s sun
shining through my window pane,
awoke me from a harrowed night
I was safe and sound again.

With all my fears forgotten
another day with all it’s charm,
was mine to live and cherish
on my Grandma’s honey farm.

Margaret Rose Larrivee
Jan. 16, 2007