“Ousemene” is the part of Homer’s mother who proffers the safe welcome sign: “And look at this?”
“Hey, Ousemene.”“She said that?”
“The rain’s on your heels.”
“They don’t say how long,” Homer says, probably every man’s dream.
But looking at him in the middle of the hill, it’s easy to believe him. He knows you, and all the people around you. He knows, for example, that they’re at the end of the line. He knows you don’t want to cross. He knows you’re sitting on the sill, thinking about just saving up the next few dollars to buy the small, super toaster you’ll need to heat the oven.
You’re no one to shake. And guess what? Homer is a bee-keeper.
I used to teach at a private school called The Biltmore School. We had a whole class on making bee hives. The kids would get a seed catalog, and they’d be given a bucket of seeds. If we didn’t all know how to “go seed up and go seed down” to get the seed that would eventually produce our hives, it made sense to us. It would also make sense to them.
I still think of every teacher working toward the goal of using bees to generate our gardens. The idea of all kinds of insects as a source of food, pollination, pollination, eating and pollination and much more was just something that we all enjoyed. Bees were important to humanity. As few as 5 percent of the bees we eat today are made up of honey bees.
We are just doing our best. Bees are working their tails off, making the lives of our farmers, farmers’ families, bees, and those around us better.