Home, Sweet Home...

One problem I face with writing is the lack of voice inflection. The way you say something can change the meaning in infinite ways. Due to that restriction, I have to waste a whole paragraph to explain the way this post should be said. Think of it being said by Bond, James Bond. Get it? Ok, on with the post.

This incredibly witty post title stems from an interesting phenomenon we are experiencing in chateau Bodine. When I first came back from Hawaii for the summer I noticed we had a ladder up against the roof. I didn't pay much attention to it. After two weeks the ladder was still there and occasionally it would be at different locations. One day I heard my mom make a call to professional beekeepers and killers. Apparently we had a bee problem outside my house and my dad had been spending weeks poking around for a hive. I'm sure they bickered about it many times.

"Tina, I'm telling you, I've been looking around up there for weeks. There is nothing there."

"I don't think so Jerry. They keep coming back. There must be a hive."

"No, there isn't. If you don't believe me, go check yourself."

I don't know if this is exactly how the conversation happened, but if you know my parents you'd put money down in Vegas that it's word for word.

So the bee keepers/killers came and in five minutes found the hive, poisoned the entrance and left. My dad pretended like he knew it was there but he didn't have the supplies necessary to exterminate them all. My mom quietly chalked this one up as another victory.

The next day we all came home at the same time. We noticed the wall looked like it has been bleeding something. It was. At first we couldn't tell what it was. Then we all came to the same conclusion at the same time, it was honey. The dead bees all around the floor were a dead give away. It turns out that the entire 2 story high wall was one giant honeycomb! I dare say we have a 25' X 10' pot of gold in our walls. We should have harvested instead.

Every few hours my dad got the hose out and sprayed the oozing honey off the walkway. For the following week it was leaking like my bank account. It finally stopped and we forgot about it.

Then like magic one day it started to pour more out. Then a few more days would pass before it would produce again. We realized that every time it gets hot, the honey melts and comes down the wall and onto our feet. Whenever I see it I get tempted to try some. Seeing dead bees floating in it and knowing how this hive died, I decline. Just as I was sharing this sentiment with my mom my dad spoke up, "Oh, it good. It's almost got a maple taste to it." I'm sure the poison could only improve on him.