Like a colony of bees, saturday morning sees a hive of activity. Central is the harvest hut, where volunteers, staff, apprentii, and those who vend, swarm and descend, fresh goodies in hand. The carrots and broccoli are new, and the meaty beets would crowd out the rest if they could; their bushels of green and red tops take up the counter space they deserve. ‘Early Wonder’ indeed!
So we bumble off to gather the herbs, and find Ayla in passing, nursing a half stung finger in amidst the medicinal flower garden. The morning grog has yet to pass, and some bees are not at their sharpest. But once they get going, their toil seems unending. The oregano is in full bloom, and the bees make their pass. Some hang so heavy with pollen it seems a defiance of gravity, as they swager through this warm morning’s air. Seeing our pollinators drunk with the bloom eases my guilt as I steal these fragrant herbs out from under them. One could lose hours down here, but the market does not wait for dreamers, as the burgeoning lineup will attest. Those with a hunger get the freshest and the best. So I scurry back up, mint, sage, oregano, bronze fennel, and savoury bunched and ready for sale.
Morning task complete, it is time to seek out the action in the field. “To the peas!” someone calls. Surely, if those I see in the distance were not human, bees they would be, the way they methodically pour over the peas. Plucking high and low, sugar snap and snow. These are bountiful times, and for that I am grateful. Every day, it seems there is more freshness and vitality bursting forth of the earth. My buzzin buddies have it good, too. Everywhere I look, there are Honey and Bumble bees, going about their business. From blackberry blossoms, to echinaccea, to pea and bean flowers, the maya garden squash petals and blooms unnamed in my mind, there is the hum of our most prodigious helpers. The ones without which we would have little to eat. And I don’t mean honey.