Living in rural Westcliffe, Colorado, far from the modern world in many ways, the first thing I thought of when I saw the word ‘beehive’ were my friends Mary and Christina. Both are beekeepers, both gather honey, and both make other things, too: remedies, tinctures, salves. They’re both in excellent health. Their skin glows and their waists are trim—pretty remarkable for women in their late 50s and early 60s. I attribute their wellness to their gentle life styles. When they’re not collecting honey, they’re picking wildflowers or herbs, or they’re selling the fruits of their labor at farmer’s markets or, in Christina’s case, her acupuncture office.
Life is slow at 8000 feet. I moved here from upstate New York six years ago. Every so often I feel desperate to “go down the hill” as we say in these parts. That means driving to Pueblo or Colorado Springs. Whenever I succumb to my need for more action, I go shopping. It’s not something I’m proud to say. I drive to the Springs and hit Whole Foods, Costco, Sprouts, and if I’m really having a time of it, I stop at Summer Sweet for a serve-yourself frozen yogurt, often with M&Ms on top. It’s a good way to spend the day, but I’m glad when I’m back on Route 115 headed west into the sunset and the Sangre de Cristo Mountains. It’s nice to know the hive is there; better still when it’s behind me.
Bar Scott, Writer & Musician, www.barscott.com