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| Dennis uses a hot knife to melt wax off a frame of capped honey |
After several delays due to disagreeable
weather, Dennis and I assembled my honey extractor yesterday afternoon. Well,
let’s say I leaned heavily upon my neighbor’s mechanical experience with
wingnuts, bolts, and washers.
Many moons had
passed since I’d successfully found the right place for each part enclosed in
the Ziploc baggie inside the stainless steel bin. Other than the spout that
pours the golden honey into bottles, there’s nothing friendly about the machine.
The name makes my teeth ache.
Since Dennis doesn’t own a honey extractor, months
ago I’d offered to host a honey party in my pavilion. The more hands the
merrier when it comes to handling sticky honey frames and cleaning up
afterward. Before you know it, you’ve spent the day in congenial conversation.
“I don’t know why
my colony collapsed last summer,” Dennis said. “They left some good honey.”
“And I don’t why
my bees died this past winter,” I replied. “I couldn’t believe my eyes this
spring when I counted thirteen frames of capped honey.”
“Then, let’s get
you started,” he said.
After a refresher
course with the electric, hot knife for melting the wax from the capped honey,
I was on my own.
“Hey! Slow down
with that knife,” Dennis said while he illustrated the proper method. “And
don’t saw the honey. It’s not wood.”
Within
half an hour we had inserted six of my medium frames into the extractor and
pressed the “on” button. The noise began as the machine and its stand shimmied,
although we’d stabilized the foundation with a cinderblock and rocks.
Dennis stopped the motor. “The weight of the
frames must be unbalanced,” he said, lifted the lid, and rearranged the six frames.
Repeatedly. Still, the extractor rattled the two chains that connected it to
the stand.
Meanwhile, I
leaned my weight upon the lid until we’d spun my thirteen frames.
“Now your honey,”
I said.
We discovered his
frames heavy with capped honey were too large for my extractor designed for
medium frames.
“I thought this
might be the case,” Dennis said.
Well-advised to use the smaller sized frame due
to the weight of a box of capped honey, I purchased the medium frame extractor
years ago. “After all your help, I’m sorry you’re not taking home a bucket of
honey.”
“That’s okay.
Let’s do the medium box I brought.”
Simultaneously, we
uncapped his honey and talked about our childhoods. “Where’d you grow up?” I
asked Dennis.
“Dearborn. One of
my buddies introduced me to Rhonda.”
I’ve known Rhonda
for forty years. We met in the church we attended in Detroit where I also met Gina,
one of Rhonda’s younger sisters. Gina and I were neighbors and often exchanged recipes. She left
us her delicious apple cake as her legacy.
“Rhonda’s a
gourmet cook,” Dennis said. “I’m the luckiest man in the world. She’ll have a
delicious meal ready when I get home.”
“Do you two like
asparagus?”
“We love it!”
Dear Reader,
Dennis didn’t spin off much honey. Rather, he carried home several pounds of my
homegrown asparagus.
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