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Dad looking at that weatherboard house, Old Tooters home,
A thrifty man.. us to him did his brother send,
Saying that the place could do with a mend;
The roof had red patches of pitted rust, the cost agreed, an aluminium spray, as if were new!
A bulge I saw like a big brown bag, ‘those eaves with bees were occupied’ my Dad said,
A bee man was arranged for tomorrow morn.
Off we set early that day to arrive at 8, for to watch the bees and the man perform,
He wore dungarees and a netted hat, and held a pot of smoke as well as that.
He pointed its puffs, ‘the bees were calm’, that’s what Dad said,
The man then moved this Italian swarm, they were productive he said; moreover than the norm,
Before he went saying no to pay, as these bees alone did make his day.
He pointed to the now vacant hive, saying there would 'bee' honey, most pure inside.
He told us cut it clean in two, the lightest colour  would be the new.'.
He then drove off us to leave, me, my Dad and Tooter made three.

We cut it through as we'd been told, there was honey like sunlight, then a ring of gold, the core was darker of long months ago, from each we ate squeezing the comb, it fairly gushed upon the tongue.
The first seemed sweetest, the lightest one, the gold was more subtle onto the palate,
The darker ring also was sweet yet with a herb like twist; it did us treat.
Old Tooter said there was a reason.
For ‘twas gathered in the springs plant life season.
We ate a lot till we felt queasy,
Then Dad said work would make our stomachs more easy.
We set to work upon the tin, scrubbing back rust, and knocking roof nails in;
Then dad spun the flywheel on our new Briggs & Stratton machine, 
Two hours later the roof was all silvered out, Old Tooter exclaimed it was better no doubt.
What Dad had promised was accomplished to the better; the old guy even wrote us his thanks in a letter,
‘Twas 40 years ago that day; on that I ponder as I write away..
Thinking on life, on seasons.. on reasons; just where is 'home?' where does it lie?
Under an immediate or distant sky?
Is it a street, a house, City, or shack?
Is it where you are safe from harm?
I'd say yes, with close good family, like that day on Tooters farm:
I look out a window its now dark night,
Tomorrow brings yet; the soft dawn light.
As I think, I recall a yeasty savoury smell,
Mom’s currant scones fresh baked from the oven; and risen well.
For me all these things are together tied
With what is home real deep inside!
And I know I'll never be parted, from that memory's treasure,
Where love was poured in generous measure..
So if I need to know of if, what, when and where?
I'll take a walk back up memory's stair...
Back to that day of sweetness fresh from the comb,
To say loud and clear; (honey I'm home).

©Joe Maverick 12-01-2014
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