beekeeper
~
beekeeper
~
1.
~
bees smoke-drowsy rag smoulders swung slowly protected thick
in net and cotton wicking folds into beeswax candle flame
pours golden through panes in the honeycomb
streamers sweet circles sink into bread
~
hollows
yeast-filled
and honey
~
2.
~
bee sting
unexpected
~
beekeeper
never flinches
~
flicks the bee
from his fingers
~
spit and mud
for a poultice
~
~
Published as: ‘beekeeper’, Canadian Stories 17 (95), February/March 2014
Copyright 2014 Jane Tims
nichepoetryandprose 
I think the many bee stings I got under my cloths and in my hair never made me cry like this. My life with dad was not one of childish games but beekeeping, building, getting wood, leaning about vehicles …oh he left me so much more than most … But mostly unwavering love. I think he was proud of me. But I hope he knew how much I loved him. It was not the best son at the end but I was there when he died. Anyway this poem hit me like a ton of bricks. Not sure why.
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Stan Spavold ( junior)
March 19, 2014 at 9:24 am
Hi. The poem was about Dad. I wanted to capture the calm of him moving through the hives. Glad it brought back memories. Dad was proud of you and you were his regular company in his last year. The writer in me is glad you liked the poem. Janie
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jane tims
March 21, 2014 at 9:32 am
Young boy wants to be with dad
And Uncle
Valley bee conferences with dad and Francis..listen to the stories
Painstaking after school assembly of frames in basement workshop
White brimmed hat and vail
Start smoker to check hives for sickness, signs of swarm
Moving hives from field to field
One breaks we all pile out of bee filled van
Then collection and extraction
The sweet sticky mess
Filling tubs with filtered honey
Was the reward the dollar a tub selling door to door
Was it that first bike from proceeds.
Maybe
But maybe memories, working and learning from a loving dad
At 55 I can do so many things.
Thanks dad.. I miss you so much
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Stan Spavold ( junior)
March 19, 2014 at 9:17 am
Hi! Very nice tribute! I didn’t know many of these stories. I remember the honey centrifuge ‘walking’ across the kitchen floor. I thought perhaps we’d take a course and try beekeeping now we have more time, but the story about the bees escaping in the van makes me think twice. I still have a tub of Dad’s honey in the back of my fridge – just a smidgen left after all these years. Janie
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jane tims
March 21, 2014 at 9:28 am