Honey Honey

Local honey sold by the old farmer at Blackberry Hill Farm. Every year, when we go pick muscadine grapes, I buy a jar of honey from the ol' farmer. He sits  in his rocking chair in the shade just a bit away from the rows of grapevines and next to him is his grape weighing scale. On an old table next to him he has all his honey jars showcased. They shine like amber jewels in the sun. Seeing him there, summer after summer, I can't help but think of Norman Rockwell paintings. A while back, I read that a small spoonful of local honey a day will help build your resistance to local pollutants and pollens and improve allergies. Basically, the honey is suppose to contain the same pollens and allergens that make us sneezy. Make sense to me. But, I don't bother with all that. I just love it for all it's yummy goodness. Plus, in my household, we love honey, plain and simple. And I have to admit, I am a sucker for the classic canning jar, the way the sun shines through the glass, the simple nature of honey, and the fact that a bunch of cute fuzzy bumbling honey bees with pollen on their noses and feetzies made this from diving themselves into flowers and carrying the flower pollen back to their hive. <<<< (Wow, perhaps my longest run-on sentence ever) 

Sealed with a Kiss, Kirsten

S.W.A.K.