Tonight, the kids didn't eat all of their cornbread that Penny made to go with the perfect cold-weather soup; so in true Daddy fashion, doing my part to clean up after dinner, I broke out some of the honeycomb a dear friend of our family had sent over, and cut out just the right amount to cover up the bottom half of that piece of cornbread.
The funniest thing happened right about the time I started thinkin' about the perfect culinary delight of nature that was about to hit my taste buds. All of a sudden, my mind took me back to Arkansas where my Great Uncle Raymond, the Assemblies of God preacher who kept bees and would give my granddad honey with the comb, used to live. I could feel the old seat of my granddad's pick-up; I felt a hug from my Uncle Raymond, that six-foot somethin' lanky old circuit rider, and rode horse-back between my other Great Uncle and my Granddad through the Ozark mountains. I could feel the tug of overalls, feel the fit of my hat, and hear the tall tales of mosquitoes that used to carry off un-warry riders in the hills. I could feel the warmth of folks who valued bein' heard by a young boy who loved them, and could see, like yesterday through thin fog, the old family guns, guitars, mandolins and fiddles they used to show me how to use.
Ain't it somethin'... all in a bite of honeycomb. I hated to see it end.
What a trail it is that we ride in this life! Why in the world would something so simple bring back something so rich?
I don't know, exactly... but I sure am glad I got to go there tonight!
Thank you, Peggy, for the honeycomb! I've missed those ol' boys for quite a while.
In the peace of Christ,