The Golden Time of Honey
by Maja Trochimczyk
My grandma had a huge linden tree to shade her yard growing right in the
middle, dividing it in half: where the orchard and garden ended and where
the farm machines were parked by the barn, full of hay. My uncle made a
small wooden bench to sit under that ancient tree. At least 300 years old, it
was just a shade tree until it came alive each July—so loud, full of bees,
busy, buzzing. The linden flowers are small, abundant, whitish yellow. The
linden honey is light in color, like clover, with a different, delicate scent.
What a pleasure it was to rest in the shade of the linden tree and listen to
the bees making honey.
under the linden tree
full of honeybees
The buckwheat honey is more aromatic, darker, like Baltic amber. Once,
when I was strolling through the buckwheat fields with my brother, we
walked by a beekeeper’s orchard guarded by a tall fence. A swarm of bees
escaped with their new queen. Alas, they found a perfect site for their new
hive on me, so close to sweet buckwheat, so right in size. My brother ran
away. I came home with 21 stings in my head. The room was twirling all
around, unfocused, barely seen through swollen eyelids. When I fell
asleep I became a bee. 21 bees died to make me so.
curled in a flower
a bee dreams of honey—
sweetness at dusk