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No Honey

May 10, 2012

One year, there was no honey. Visitors
tasted the pies then wanted only kale
with eggs. Or ham. Or just beer. And my son
would have preserves with his butterbread, he
said, so there were winter pies lost too.
Dried apples saved us: I packed them like stones
at the millhouse, then I buried them
in milk, cooked down to make it sweet. “What is
this?” they asked, before they even swallowed.
So came spring again, then berries. Then,
with our savings, honey sold in town.
After that, the bees returned and life
went on as before. I still make that pie
from time to time. Everyone seems to like it.

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