Caleb gasps. “Is that a real thing?”
“Oh yes,” I say, dropping into my best serious tone. “My grandmother trained me when I was about your age.”
Eliza’s eyes go wide. “Did you have to fight giant bees?”
“No,” I say. “But I did have to learn three very important skills.”
They both lean in.
“Number one.” I raise a finger. “How to move slowly and gently so you don’t scare the bees.”
Caleb immediately starts moving his arms like he’s underwater. Eliza vibrates harder.
“Okay, we’ll work on that,” I say. “Number two, how to listen with your whole body. Bees tell you how they’re feeling, if you listen.”
Eliza cups a hand to her ear.
Caleb shuts his eyes and makes an exaggerated humming noise, basically meditating.
“And number three,” I go on, “how to name honey flavors in the fanciest way possible. Because bees work very hard, and it’s rude to just call their honey ‘honey.’”
“What do you call it?” Eliza asks.
“Well…” I sink down onto the rug and pat the floor. They scramble over, knees and elbows everywhere. “Some honeys taste of flowers. Some taste all sunshiney. Some taste like thunderstorms.”
“Thunderstorms don’t taste like honey,” Caleb says skeptically.
“Have you ever licked a thunderstorm?” I ask.
He pauses. “No.”
“Then you don’t know.”
He narrows his eyes at me, then cracks up. “You’re silly.”
“I can’t help that,” I say.
I get up, go to the kitchen, and come back with a small tray: three tiny jars and three tiny tasting spoons. The kids bounce as if I just brought treasure.
“Okay, trainees. Tiny taste of each. Then you tell me what to name them. Deal?”
“Deal!” they yell.
I unscrew the first jar and let them dip their spoons. They taste with exaggerated seriousness.
“Flowers,” Eliza says instantly.
“Warm toast,” Caleb decides.
Clover and blackberry,I catalog automatically. Mild, comforting, high nectar flow that week.
“Morning Meadow?” I suggest.
Eliza wiggles. “Ooh, yeah. That’s pretty.”
I open the second jar. Darker, late summer honey. I know this one already: a mix of wild mint, thistle, and the faintest edge of smoke from distant burns.
Eliza tastes it and scrunches up her nose. “Spicy.”
