OUT IN 815



On Saturday I led a Dharma Mittra workshop at a yoga studio in Sycamore.

The students were lovely.

So was the drive out to the 815 area code.

Gas was cheaper than I've seen it in eons.



So afterwards I drove out to see Mr. and Mrs. Dreyfus.

On the way I passed a place that sold raw, local honey.

I'm crazy about the local honey; I try to eat some every day (either in the morning hot water with lemon or on peanut butter Ezekiel toast). It's supposed to help control pollen allergies. But usually I have to buy it at the Food Whole - which used to get it from a local fellow who stocked the shelves with his own honey. It was nice to speak to him about his bees. But they dropped his brand about a year ago. All they have now is Some Honey from somewhere in Wisconsin. So it was a treat to buy honey that was truly local, from the beekeeper himself.




I also adore hand-painted signs. So when I saw this, I immediately turned around and pulled into the driveway.

After parking, I went up to the fridge in front of the barn, and opened the door.



Inside was a another sign, telling me to knock on the back door of the farmhouse.

I walked over.

There were kittens sunning themselves on the porch.

I was petting them when the man opened the door.

I was so excited about the honey.

"I was driving by and saw the sign," I said. "I'm from Chicago--..."

"I'm sorry," said the man, without missing a beat.

At that I wanted to hug him.

I asked him where the bees were, and he pointed out back to some tall, round, white structures.

"They're hibernating now," he said.

I took home a lot of honey that day.

No goats or chickens or brown eggs, though.

No kittens, either.