Here at the Rhodes Log, we like bees. And we're very cliche about it.

The second post I ever wrote on this blog was about bees. Maybe you remember it. And since then I've been compelled to document any and all major bee happenings in our life.

A few days ago we had our first Texas honey harvest. After a rough start with a beetle infestation, the hive has been thriving.

Even though he didn't grow up around it, Jacob comes from generations of beekeepers, and he started beekeeping the year before we got married.

If you're Catholic, you might know that yesterday was the feast of St. Ambrose. The patron saint of bees and beekeepers. It was also the birthday of our very own beekeeper.
Yesterday, Jacob turned the big 30.

(Jacob saw the above pic and said: Is that going over my coffin?) (I'm just venturing into the world of manual photography, and apparently I overexpose when I'm feeling sentimental.)

So we got ourselves a nice hefty honey harvest, and we wanted to give some to you. Specifically this little jar right here.

As a Happy Birthday Jacob. As a Happy Feast of St. Ambrose. As a Merry Christmas. As an entirely nondenominational movement of good will. This honey is dear to us. We give it to people we love. We (especially me) like that you're here. That you read these words that I very sporadically share.

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Old Time Fredericksburg Weekend

We went to Fredericksburg last weekend. Ever since we moved to Houston last summer, we've taken lots of last minute trips to the homeland. I always brace myself a little because I get heartsick for the hill country.

This weekend just happened to be the county fair and the fair parade.

The fair parade was Friday morning. I hadn't been to this parade in over a decade. It's everything you'd want a small town parade to be. Tractors and miniature cars and more tractors and people riding horses and two seater tractors and ostentatious floats and county fair queens with their affected hand waves. Jake loved it. Multiple times since that day he's made me stop everything I'm doing so I can watch him reenact the marching band. Ms. Texas rode by in an open convertible. I didn't know there was such a thing as "Ms. Texas," so I asked my dad if it meant she was married? or something? and he said: "Divorced." A fact which he knew because he - wait for it - delivered her. As in Dr. Dad caught the squirmy little baby that would grow up to be Ms. Texas.

I left the kiddos for the entire afternoon on Friday to go watch one of my oldest friends get married. She wore a flower crown and got married on the steps of the courthouse. I had my first (and last) Michelada at this affair. Color me pansy, but I'll take my beer without tabasco sauce and all my cocktails with extra simple syrup.

Saturday was a slow day at my parents' house. Jake got to ride with my dad in the tractor. I got to follow the crawling baby around while chatting with my mother and overloading on Nespresso. Jacob went to my grandmother's to change a lightbulb for her, and returned approximately three Cribbage games later.

We spent some quality time with my Dad's observation beehive. My parents' turned my brother's old room into a a little bee theater. The observation hive sits in the back corner with a pipe leading out the window that the bees use to enter and exit the hive. The hive is tall with a long glass panel, so you can see the bees at work. For the first time on Saturday, Jacob and I got to see the queen. As she moves around the hive, a little halo of bees moves with her. Carressing her. Cleaning her. Let's hope she's not an introvert.

We went to the fair and the horseraces Saturday afternoon; Nana June came with us because that woman's got some luck. Jake was just big enough to ride the purple motorcycle. We saw the prize produce and managed to avoid buying a funnel cake despite the sweet sweet smell that tempted us all afternoon.

On Sunday we went out to a friend's ranch that has some restored buildings on it, and now Jacob has decided his dream job would be restoring century-old farmhouses. So the next house we buy might be in even worse shape.

So that was our weekend. Nothing like a good weekend update I always say.

Buzzy New Bees

Jacob has more bees.

Before we left Los Angeles and moved to Houston, we lost both of our beehives. This has become a bit of a trend: decide to move, lose the bees.

When we moved within Los Angeles, we unceremoniously dropped the bee box in the yard of our new place and before we'd bothered to get new bees they had moved in.

We crossed our fingers for a similar story here in Houston when we noticed some scouts checking out the bee box, but nothing ever came of it and finally Jacob reached out on Craigslist with an offer for free bee removal. He had a couple of leads that seemed promising and one in particular: a man west of us said that a swarm had taken up in a cable box in his backyard. All the other leads involved hacking into walls, so he packed up his hat and his gloves, sealed up the bee box, buckled it into his truck, and off he went.

The transfer went really well, and we even scored a couple pounds of honey. He built the bees a little sanctuary in the back corner of the yard out of some old shelves and doors. It forces the bees to fly upwards when they leave the hive. This ensures that we don't have a flightpath in the middle of the yard. It's also childproof which is perhaps the more important detail.

And my how he loves them. Whenever I can't here him shuffling about the house there's more than a good chance he's out there watching them.

If you like bees and aren't squeamish about the idea of watching close ups of larva and exoskeletons, then I highly recommend the documentary More Than Honey (available on Netflix) which takes a critical look at modern beekeepking practices; it has some stunning videography and lots of cute old swiss people.

7QT: Huckle Cat and other Adult Concerns

The kiddos have stuffy noses and a cough so I'm going to have to keep these short: little sleep, little blog.

- 1 -

Most days Jake will only cooperate with me if I refer to him as Huckle Cat, myself as Ms. Honey Bear, and Lucy June as Lowly Worm. Thanks, Rich. 

- 2 -

Jake's a pretty good little eater. He eats pretty much everything except salad greens and sweet peppers, and he'll still try those without a fight whenever we prompt him. I'm pretty proud of his palate, but as he gets older he's making it increasingly clear that he would always rather be eating plain sliced sandwich bread. 

- 3 -

I feel like this move to Houston has catapulted me into the concerns of adulthood. Instead of spending leisure time reading about the latest health food craze or sinking into the couch with some post-apocalyptic teen fiction, I read about dollar cost averages. I think that makes me less cool. But I suppose that's up for debate. 

- 4 -

The more I read about money management, the more I realize how far I am from being an organized mature adult. Contrary to expectation, it didn't happen the moment our landlord passed us the keys to an actual house to live in. (No more garages for us!) 

I still hate HATE making any kind of official phone calls. I am not on a cleaning schedule. I never sort the mail, opting instead to encourage my dependence on catch-alls. I don't get dressed every day. I'm actually regressing. A couple weeks ago I cut four inches off my own hair, just like I did with my bestie when I was six: we were in her parents' closet and hid all the evidence in her mother's shoes. Except this time I used a youtube video that was posted by a nineteen year old, so yeah, I've come a long way. 

- 6 -

Take Entitled: Since Moving into a House 

My kitchen is approximately three times bigger than any kitchen I've had in my adulthood, and I  grew into it in approximately 48 hours. Now I complain about having to take actual steps while unloading the dishwasher.

Jacob and I still speak as if we can hear what the other is saying no matter where the other person is in the house. And we almost can. So we try again only louder.  

Despite many promises to the contrary, the yard was messy with toys five minutes after we moved in. It is messy today. It will be messy tomorrow. 

- 5 -

Lucy June loves her brother.

For the most part

- 7 -

Also, we've been kicking the can on ordering new bees since we lost both our hives before leaving California. But it looks like we're getting some attention out by the box so keep your fingers crossed. 

Maybe I should put out another sign.

Happy weekend, friends!!

See Jen for more takes.

7 Quick Takes Saturday (with a GIVEAWAY!!!)

Joining Jen as I dust off the long forgotten blog today to pull some quick takes out of my magic bag of unproductivity.

-1 -

I just don't have any staying power anymore. I do things. I just don't finish things. So far I have about eight unfinished drafts in blogger. A half done baby bonnet and blanket for Lucy June. Four gifts for new moms in various stages of completeness (this one kills me...to those moms: when you have a nine month old and you get a target gift card in the mail from me, know that I had something much more personal in the works but it is still in three pieces and has unfortunately been consigned to the graveyard of my craft bag.)

- 2 -

Jacob just walked into our quiet house as I sit here blogging with a baby asleep on my chest and another asleep in a bedroom. He asked me how it was going, and I said that I felt badly that I hadn't blogged in so long.

"Yeah. Your readers are starving." And then he started cracking up.

He's always such an encouragement.

The other day I asked him to change a toddler diaper because I was a bit of an invalid after a kitchen mishap left me with an impressive gash on my left thumb.

He whisked the toddler away and said: "Remember when mama got an excuse on her finger?"

- 3 -
Update on Firstborn

Recently Jakeboy and I had the following conversation:

Jake (to me): "You don't have horns? You just have ears?"

Me: "No, I don't have horns."

Jake: "You're not a cow?"

Me: ...

- 4 -
Update on Secondborn

Lucy June has started smiling. It's the dearest thing ever and maybe we'll get a picture of it one of these days.

  

- 5 -

In an effort to tie some of the loose ends that probably only I care about in my little life. Here are the pictures from the Thanksgiving post I never wrote.

The carver and the vultures.

The gravy makers

Boston 2014

- 6 -

I did however get the lion's share of our Christmas shopping done by Advent. I'll just gloat about that for a second because it makes me feel like a rockstar. Admittedly, this has been a goal of mine every year since I got married, and I only managed to come close to the goal this year. So I probably should just get on down off that high horse, but I won't. Nope nopity nope. Because I've even started wrapping. Earlier this week I dusted off my crafty pants, and I tore apart and flattened some brown shopping bags and set the toddler to decorating them. Red white green paint + wine corks + potato stamp.

And here's how they turned out:

- 7 -

And finally. The giveaway. Today The Rhodes Log is hosting its first ever giveaway of some of Jacob's homegrown honey. I'm also throwing in some homemade chai tea mix because we're mildly obsessed with chai tea and it makes the honey seem more giftable.



A few months ago I had the charming idea to give some honey away on the blog, and then I thought -- like the good little Catholic that I am -- that we could give the honey away on the feast day for the patron saint of beekeepers. I discovered that the patron saint of beekeepers is the relatively well known St. Ambrose.

And his feast day is none other than today. The infamous December 7th. Which also happens to be the birthday of our very own beekeeper.

Happy Birthday, my love. I made you a pie.

I thought the coincidence was too good to pass up, so here I have pulled myself out of my diaper changing stupor to giveaway some honey. In honor of both St. Ambrose's feast day and my husband's birthday.

So if you want to win some of this magical honey and chai, just leave a comment on this post telling me how you would use it (put it in your tea, drizzle it in your yogurt, give it to your grandmother, etc). I even wrangled a Rafflecopter widget because I'm fancy like that.

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Now go visit Jen to catch the more timely takers.

Bees, Laundry, and a Golden Birthday

Today is the 28th, and it is my 28th birthday.

It's already been a perfect day. I showered and washed my hair, I'm wearing polka dotted jeans, I'm completely ignoring a stack of student papers that I should have graded by tomorrow, and I'm staring out at the loveliest day we've seen in weeks.

I've spent most of the day drawing pictures of balloons for Jake. He's obsessed. I think I've drawn 500 balloons in the past two days.



I asked him to draw his own balloons, and he proceeded to write on my legs.



Other than that I've been doing housework.

I tend to be pretty productive on birthdays. My inclination is to be lazy, but in preparation for being lazy I end up cleaning my kitchen and bathroom and sweeping and mopping. I walk around the house all day seeing messes and saying to myself: "It's your birthday! You DESERVE a clean sink!" And then I clean it.

One thing I haven't done much of today is laundry. A few weeks ago we had to move the hives, and now they sit happily side by side on the tier down from our apartment. Here they are all pretty.

 
The move went pretty well. Except I'm not in love with their location. Why? Well take a gander back up at that picture and ask yourself about those green wires extending off the image to the right. Here we go zooming out.



That would be my clothesline. Half of which is now retired. And I can only hang laundry before the sun hits the beehive or after the sun goes down because otherwise I'm in the flight path. So with half the clothesline and only early morning and late evening for hanging clothes you can imagine how far behind I am in laundry.

Very. Far. Behind.

So this morning had me attempting in my birthday fervor to get a little ahead. I tootled down to the yard to retrieve dry clothes and string out some newly washed diapers while Jake wandered precariously on the brick steps. 



There are lots of unforgiving steps on the property, and we've recently let the leash out on those steps for the toddler. He's pretty good, but it makes me SO nervous. But we're not talking about toddler milestones, we're talking about bees and laundry.

So I was a little late to do the laundry job. The sun was just hitting the hive, and the bees were beginning to get active. I figured I'd make it quick.

But then the bees seemed extra loud. Alarmingly loud. Like not coming from the hives but from right next to my head loud. And low and behold, I turn around and I'm eye-level with this:



So no laundry got hung, and I ran away.

This is the fourth time our hives have split since the bees moved in last year. One of those swarms we caught, but the rest we've let fly away with a prayer because two domesticated hives is more than enough for our little corner of LA. I did go get the camera though - for my readership - and managed to snap the above picture right before they began to swarm. As the clump began to dissolve, I hightailed it up the steps with a toddler under one arm and a DSLR under the other. Within moments the sky was filled with bees.



Bees bees everywhere slowly moving to the southwest. 

The ancient gardener at our last apartment, Rosario, used to say that bee swarms are good luck which seems very appropriate on this my golden 28th.

The mad photography skills in this post warrant a link up with The Clan. The theme is Happiness or Joy, so I think pictures of bee swarms and body-painting toddlers will fit right in.

Alright. Off you go to make me feel special with well wishes and congratulations in the comment box. And go see Cari for all the other pictures people are taking on my birthday. 

Mardi Gras Stings

I'm sitting on my couch eating cookie dough and thinking about the impending darkness of Lent. 

When I first converted to Catholicism I LOVED Lent. It was my favorite liturgical season. Today I get tired just thinking about the sacrificial lengths I went to then. I couldn't get enough of the privation before the feast, and I would make lists and lists of self-denying, soul-ennobling activities. Now, a few years in, I've calmed down a lot - maybe the cool Catholic kids will finally start hanging out with me.

I was pretty chill last Lent. I think my primary sacrifice was avoiding Jacob's and my "signature fight." I don't know if every couple is this way, but it didn't take long for me to realize that Jacob and I only had one real fight - we had it over and over again to be sure - but it was always the same one. It always boiled down to a central issue. So last Lent my goal was to avoid the triggers to this fight. It was a really rewarding experience, chock full of lip-biting. I'm currently trying to think of a similar sacrifice for the impending lenten desert and simultaneously devouring the cookie dough in case said sacrifice happens to involve sugar or chocolate or...raw eggs.

We went to a supremely awkward Mardi Gras at church this evening. We are constantly hopping between two parishes here in LA. One is in Beverly Hills and has a lovely choir and the other hosts Jacob's Knights of Columbus chapter. The two parishes have rivaling Mardi Gras parties. The Beverly Hills one is tripping with all kinds of cool. It's filled with young-ish people and lasts until the early morning hours, mountains of crawfish and cocktails. But the Knights...well at the Knights' party the florescent lights stay on in the parish hall. The forty people in attendance offer a median age of around 70. The jazz band is decent but almost everyone leaves during the band's first break and people start cleaning up. The band returns to about three elderly couples who unabashedly rule the dance floor for the last set. The dessert table is filled with lemon flavored bundt cakes. And it's perfect. I love it so much. And that's where we were tonight. Jake was adorably mellow throughout the evening since it was way late for him. He sat in my lap and watched the band for about fifteen minutes, and that is a toddler record for him by far. One sweet little lady introduced him to the joy of Mardi Gras beads and he adorned himself with every strand he saw.

 
It was adorable, and Jacob and I shamelessly played parent paparazzi as he pulled necklace after necklace over his little towhead. 

Jacob has spent the last half hour moving the beehives about fifteen feet away from their current location - at our landlord's insistence. It's unwise to move hives in such close proximity to their old location because the similar surroundings cue them to head to their old spot instead of acclimating to their new one. Even though it's dark and most of the bees are in the hive, a few minutes ago, so many lost bees were attracted to the light in the living room that it sounded like rain hitting the windows.

So I turned off the lights. And now I'm blogging in the dark. But I must go because Jacob is insisting that I come "take care of him." He guesses he got stung about fifteen times and even feels a sting on his "buttox." 

Saturday night. QED.

Thanksgiving Honey Harvest

Wednesday we did some honey harvesting. Jacob was off of work, and the day was crisp and fall-ish, and the baby was napping. Everything was perfect, so I holed myself in a corner with a blanket over my head while Jacob tackled the first of his two hives.

The last time we tried to harvest honey, I was haunted by one of the bees for three days. My father - who caught the beekeeping fever from Jacob - explained that this bee was a guard bee, and once you've gotten a guard bee riled up there's nothing to do but sting or be stung. He thought it was unusual that the bee hung around for so many days, but after Jacob killed her, I wasn't bothered by a single other bee. So I know it was the same bee, and I know she had it out for me.

I'm still a little scarred. I mean - let's not be overdramatic - I have two beehives so close to my front door that I could spit on them, and I'm cool with that. I just don't love them like I used to. I no longer feel like they're our pets. I leave them alone; they leave me alone.

When Jacob told me he was harvesting Wednesday, I closed every window in the house and completely refused to help. We wouldn't be having any incidents like last time...or that was the plan...until Jacob needed to bring the comb inside. Anyway. Long story short. We opened the door. He passed in the comb. A bee buzzed in with it, and seconds later the bee was in my hair and I was jumping around the house and whipping my hair like a mad woman. I was helpless because Jacob was stuck outside with bees still crawling all over his hood. He really wasn't too concerned though: he'd been stung about eight times by then and figured I could handle it myself. And I did. Necessity mothered some invention in the way of a no-special-tools-needed bee trap for longhaired people, and I feel pretty brilliant about it. Check it:

That's right. There's a bee in there. Bees go for your eyes, so a couple hair whips will snag them in your tresses, and then all you have to do is twist. Bee. Trapped. And dead. Jacob fished it out after he took the photo. Not a believer?? Take two:

This was taken this morning when we came back in the house after running errands because, no, they hadn't settled down 48 hours later, and, yes, they hate me.

See how much calmer I am in the second photo? That's because my Hair Twist Bee Trap is awesome. With the way things have been going, I'm sure I'll have a chance to test it out a few more times. Jacob is very amused by how the bees seem to target me. He told me today: "Maybe they're jealous...I mean, I'm kind of like their pimp and you're like my main squeeze..."

Right.

Anyhow. The end of our story is a sweet one.

  Honey

Yes, those are dead bees collecting on the table; and, no, the fact that the straining comb looks like a hefty bosom is not lost on us - we just embrace it, and let the jokes abound.