Glibertarians.com 2019 Archive

Author: Fourscore

  • Letter to the Editor

    I was going through some personal papers and found this copy of a letter I had written nearly 30 years ago. Re-reading it was almost as if it had been written yesterday, other than some events were dated. Pretty much everything else is current. It was written as I was finishing up my house and preparing to retire and the tax people were overjoyed that someone would actually move into a rural area. Over the years I have written a lot of angry letters to the local papers but I always included copies to those I was maligning. Sadly to say nothing ever changed because of my exercises in futility. I used to go to the local town board meetings, my complaints always were about the use or misuse of tax payer money to support those things that weren’t governmental  (such as Boy Scouts, fireworks displays, various donations, etc). I had a number of aggravations with the zoning board/land use/building permits at the county level as well.
    I finally got worn down and gave up, elections didn’t change anything, mindsets never changed. Once a precedence is set it’s tough to change, even at the lowest level.
    A lot of the letters never saw daylight, local papers often pick and chose the opinions that are not confrontational. I did get picked up by some other publications that reprinted my letters, however.
    _________________________

  • Siblings and Rivalry

    Families come in all different packages, especially in today’s world. Many of us, perhaps most of us have brothers or sisters or both. Some have step siblings, some have half brothers or sisters and various combinations of all the possibilities. Some, I believe the less fortunate, are from a one child family. I say this because I was lucky enough to have two brothers, both older.

    There were times however that conflicts arose, petty jealousies or maybe out right dislike. My oldest brother, we’ll call him Bob ’cause that was his nickname for Robert, was seven years older than me. That’s a big age difference when one is young. He was in junior high as I started school. While it was nice to have an older brother we really didn’t play together and my first memories of him are probably when I was seven or eight.

    Resources were rather limited in our household but it seemed that a teen age Bob had more access to things than I did. In retrospect I realize that older kids have more responsibilities than the younger ones. For example, he might have to stay home to sort of babysit his kid brother(s) which probably he didn’t get compensated for (other than my sparkling personality) when he’d rather have been out playing with his own friends. Teenagers need more trendy clothes, though I doubt they were very trendy in our family. Bob also needed cash to take his romantic interests to the Friday night movie and my Dad would always find him a paying job, baling cardboard boxes at a grocery store or some such thing.


    I recall that during WW2 we all played WAR, Bob got to be Mike, the pilot or sergeant while I was always a Kraut, a Hynie or a Nip. I was never on a winning team. Since I didn’t know what any of those were it probably didn’t leave any lasting trauma in my life. I did know that Mike or sergeant was something to aspire to be, otherwise why would he pull rank on me. Sometimes we played a card game called War which was just each player turning a card over and the highest card won the rest of the players’ cards that had been turned up.. The beauty of that was all the broken decks of cards could be used and it didn’t matter. The winner was declared by whoever ended up with the most cards when supper was announced.


    Bob was a big kid, played high school football but his academic career was cut short because of algebra. His high school grades reflected more interest in football and romance and he convinced our parents that he should drop out of school half way through his junior year and join the army the day he was 17.    He was disappointed that his birthday fell on a Sunday but Monday morning Dad took him downtown Minneapolis to the recruiting office and signed his permission and Bob had his wish come true. Thus ended any sibling rivalry,if there ever really was any. I was 10 and though I missed him it wasn’t bad because we had never been friends, only brothers.

    Brother William or Bill was two years older and the one I followed around. He was sort of my teacher or coach when it came to sports. He too was a big guy for his age but we played together, handy to have a play mate in the same house. After Bob had left Bill and I didn’t have to share the same bed, Bill moved into Bob’s area, I stayed in the bedroom.


    Bill wasn’t academically oriented either so my mother would tell me to help him with his math homework but I usually just ended up doing it so we could get outside faster to play . There wasn’t really much homework back then, I guess teachers taught during the classroom time.

    Hand-me-down clothes were the norm in our household, Bill had grown into whatever Bob had left and my mother was always busy making the larger sizes smaller so the clothes could be used. Because I was a skinny kid not much fit without a major re-tailoring. I was envious of Bill because he seemed so self assured, being bigger and all. He was a good ice skater while I was barely able to stand up. He always got chosen first at our pick up games while I was hoping not to be picked last. No one really is chosen last, the last one standing goes to the team whose turn it was to pick.


    It was good though to have a big brother that could guide me through the intricacies of junior high, walk to school and a ready play mate. We had the squabbles like most siblings but since he always won the physical matches I learned quickly not to go that route. I could out debate (argue) him until my mother couldn’t stand it anymore and would either separate us or make us go outside.

    My Dad’s health was in decline and we moved from Minneapolis to a farm in northern Minnesoda. It was a cultural shock for two city kids but we took to the rural life in a big way. We’d always had guns but now we could shoot, hunt and fish. The sort of rivalry continued on but now on a more equal footing. I learned to trap, Bill didn’t care much about that. We lived 16 miles from school. Bill was now a senior, big, good looking, and played a good game of high school football and football players could get a ride home after practice.

    My folks were not keen on school sports because of the injury possibility and it took away from our work schedule at home. Anyway, Bill’s interest in the ladies continued while I was still a skinny, introverted kid. He graduated, left home but missed his romantic interests and came back soon. By this time I was a very tall skinny introverted kid. Though I was very shy, my SIL, Bob’s wife, had taught me how to dance. Many of my contemporaries were still a little awkward and embarrassed but when the music started I was the first one to get a partner and do some steppin’. Of course, the girls had taught one another how to dance and wanted to dance with a boy and didn’t want to get chosen last or not chosen at all. I was a different person on the dance floor while my brothers were holding back and waiting for a slow tune.

    Then school is over, the birds had to leave the nest, learn to fly on their own. As with many families we moved in different directions, my brothers and I rarely got back to see our parents. We seldom saw one another for thirty years and then it was only for a day or so.

    As we aged we found ourselves living closer to each other, sort of migrating back towards our roots. I retired near my brother Bill, Bob would make several trips each year to visit, fish and hunt with us. We always ended up at my house, I had room, Mrs Fourscore would put up with us. She said she enjoyed having them around because they ate everything. We would laugh and tease each other again, much as we had done when we were growing up. It was great having two brothers again. We had about 25 good years of camaraderie and then reality set in.


    Both left this earthly world about 8 years ago. I hung up my dancing shoes a long time ago. I have two old friends from high school that live nearby, they too have become their family patriarchs and we’ve sort of adopted each other.

    I’m grateful for the Glib community, having younger friends even if we don’t know one another on a really personal level. Its a good place to trade ideas, ask questions and not feel so alone in the libertarian wilderness. TPTB have done a magnificent job.

    *We’ll be having the Honey Harvest on Sunday, Sep 15th. All glibs and lurkers are invited. We live in North Central MN, draw a line from Duluth to Fargo and we’re ½ way in between, 100 miles in each direction. Pot luck, family friendly, a little educational. Friends, family and neighbors will be in attendance as well and we hope some of you good folks can make it. It’ll be a great way to meet new people. If you are interested give a shout out for directions.

    There are several glibs that should be here so you’ll meet someone you know from these pages.

  • Gone Fishing….

    I know that many of you Glibs are fishermen or have had some experiences fishing, hopefully with your father or older brother as a teacher or guide. I remember with fondness the first time my Dad took me fishing, alone, with no older brothers along, just the two of us. An old wooden boat that leaked a bit (with a soup can to bail it out once in a while).

    Small lake in Minnesoda, no cabins on it, appropriately called Mud Lake and for a reason. We got our feet wet walking through the swamp grass to the boat, but it was a going to be a glorious day. My Dad was fishing with minnows and he probably put one on my line. At some point of not catching any fish I found a skinny angle worm crawling in the bottom of the boat. I knew that those things caught fish so I rigged a worm on my short cane pole and before long caught a HUGE sunfish/perch/bream about 5 or 6 inches long. It was the first fish I’d ever caught! I was excited and happy. I pleaded with my Dad and he let me keep it, telling me I’d have to eat it and so on.

    A while later I caught a bullhead, 7-8 inches long, and we repeated the process of keeping the fish. Now I was onto something, but no more worms in the boat but I didn’t care, I had caught fish! Not one but two! When we got back to the cabin I gave my Mom, who wasn’t a fisherperson, a blow-by-blow description of how men catch their fish. I was hooked and no pun.

    I knew that I had to make some changes if I was going to be competitive with two older and experienced brothers the following year. I started saving money, begging, running cash errands, whatever it took because I needed a rod and reel, like my Dad, if I was going to chase the big ones the next summer. By Springtime I had put together a treasure chest of about 5 dollars, enough for some decent equipment. Not a Pfleuger or a Shakespeare maybe but some quality gear anyway. One thing I knew for certain, though, it had to have a level wind, not some kid reel but a real grown up reel like my Dad’s. By this time WWII was over and products of all sorts were available.

    My Dad worked a half day on Saturdays, but agreed to stop on his way home and chose the best one he could find for my money. I gave him my life’s savings and one Saturday afternoon in May he came home with the nicest and best piece of fishing gear I’d ever seen, better than either brother’s, and the reel had a level wind. He’d thoughtfully bought a roll of 50 yards of black line, a bobber, some leaders and a small round tin with 50 assorted hooks. I was ready! I couldn’t wait ’til we went Up North to a lake cabin on vacation.

     

    Like all things, vacation came, Saturday morning in June we had the ’35 Chevvie packed up and headed north. We were going to an honest-to-goodness resort on a small lake with beautiful clear water. My Dad would take the brothers out early in the morning, I could cast and catch fish off the dock and he would take me later in the day and we caught fish! I caught fish! Mostly sunfish, a few bass and northerns, maybe some perch and bullheads, I don’t know but I pulled my weight. The week flew by, but I was equal to anyone and my Dad bragged equally about my fishing skills.

    As time went by I learned a lot watching and reading about fishing and hunting. We had lots of sports magazines around, reading the stories and exploits were a great winter’s pastime and summer fishing always was good times.

     

     

    Time passes and as I got older I did more and more fishing with my next older brother, but he wasn’t quite as passionate as I was. As we drifted off to explore the world the fishing opportunities sort of receded into the background. I ended up in Spain sitting at the next desk to a man that was consumed with fishing and hunting. He lived to fish and quickly made me his sidekick. We talked all day and spent many Saturdays fishing in the nicer weather and hunting ducks when the rain fell in the winter. He taught me about quality equipment, got me interested in skeet/trap shooting and brought me up to date on all the latest techniques and I was back on board, adding reloading to my repertoire.

     

     

    As life progressed and I got back to my old neighborhood I had the opportunity to be that kid again, only now with a boat and motor and lots of quality equipment. Instead of one bait casting reel I have a dozen and more, 3-4 tackle boxes with stuff I will never use, the folly of every fisherman. Now the problem is not finding the time but rather the difficulty of getting out of the recliner. 

     

     

     

    Yesterday was one of those life’s moments that a person wants to relive over and over. My youngest grand daughter came and wanted to go fishing. She hasn’t had much of an opportunity in doing some fun things because of school and other interference in her life but she recently graduated from college and has a little time. Anyway, we fished and talked about life, I outfitted her with some quality stuff and we caught enough fish for lunch today. She helped me clean the fish, didn’t mind the guts and smell, though her skill level needs to be upgraded some what but that will come in time.

    She wants to get the hunting /shooting class done so she can sit in a deer stand this fall. We’ll start the gun handling in a couple weeks and with enough practice and patience (on my part) she will be ready by fall. My own kids never expressed much interest in hunting so this will be enjoyable for both of us. She’s an outdoor girl and if things work out the way I hope she’ll be the owner of a Marlin 336 this fall.

    I think she will work on her oldest sister and encourage her to join us for the shooting fun. Both of them claim libertarian leanings so we’re off to a good start already.

    Oh yeah, we had venison sausage for breakfast, Grandma cooked the fish for lunch. This girl knows how to pull on a Grandpa’s heart strings and make Grandma happy by eating everything on the menu. I’m so glad that my own parents put up with my nonsense and let me spear suckers in the spring and how to run when I saw headlights on the road. These kinds of memories will be lost to the kids with their phones and games.

     


  • I was a Union Guy

    The year was 1955, I had graduated from high school that May. I was a month shy of 18 at the time. I had joined the National Guard the year before, a lot of my friends had also joined as soon as we could. At the time the draft was still going on and by being in the Guard we weren’t draft eligible.

    I lived in a northern Minnesota community, on the Cuyuna Iron Range, the smallest of the three Minnesota ranges. Many of my friends and classmates’ fathers were miners. Jobs were scarce and because I was not 18 I couldn’t even apply. I went off to Guard camp and was 18 when I came back at the end of June so I applied around but because I was late all the vacancies had been filled, but some of my school friends had gotten on. Nepotism was useful, having a family member working in a mine was a real help.

    Anyway, I soon got a call at one of the mines, the father of the girl I had been dating was hiring foreman and my brother also worked at the same mine so the nepotism was alive and well. It was one of the smaller open pits. My first day on the job was blaster’s helper which allowed me to fill the charged holes with the handy wheel barrow and a #2 long handle shovel I’d been provided. Not romantic but still…

    After one day I’d pretty well mastered the shovel/wheelbarrow operations so I got transferred to driller’s helper at the same pay level, #5. This was not a promotion. I carried water by the bucketful to the driller who seemed to not care how much he spilled as he was using it. I helped empty the mud from the drilled holes, meaning I got in the mud’s way as it splashed out of the mud bucket. I took samples and recorded the info in a log book. Hey, I was a high school graduate so I could do that administrative stuff. If you’ve ever met an open pit iron miner his clothes are rust color, his car is rust color, his wife is rust color, his kids are rust color. A driller is the top of the line rust color because he works in red mud all day.

    I was like a pig in mud, so to speak. I had a job, I was making $1.86 @ hour, a grown up wage. Now I could get a car, some beer and with a little luck a girl friend since my old one had gone to school in Minneapolis and didn’t get home too often. After a few weeks I noticed my pay check had been docked a few dollars, I can’t remember how much but I’m thinking about 4 bucks. I asked the guys at work why that happened and they told me, “Oh, union dues” WTF is up with that? I don’t remember joining a union. “Oh, we have to belong to the Steel Workers Union to keep our job, it’s a closed shop”

    “Well, what do we get for our money?” The driller said, “We are protected, no one can bump us, unless they have more seniority” “But” I said, “you may have noticed that I’m the youngest guy working here, everyone has more seniority than I have”. He said, “Yep, everyone here can bump you but since drilling is the crappiest job here and no one else wants it, you’re safe.”

    Anyway, I was now a union member. The weeks went by, uneventful, pay was good, work was dirty but after Monday one didn’t get much dirtier the rest of the week. My mother took my clothes to the laundromat ’cause she didn’t want to get her wash machine filled with the red color. As we entered into fall the discussions were “I wonder when we get our pink slips” since the open pits didn’t work in the winter after freezing set in. Sometime around the first of November the foreman met us after our shift was over, handed out the pink slips. At that point many of the miners were happy, get their rocking chair money, do a little logging, fishing, many had small farms and could wait out the winter. I was not happy, I didn’t want to work in the cold but I still wanted a paycheck.

    Then, sometime in January/February I got called back to work, we couldn’t drill but I got assigned to an older guy to lay a pipeline from the bottom of the pit, up the side and over the edge in to a holding pond. Every thing had to be ready by spring when the snow/ice was gone. Pipeline was about 4 inch diameter, maybe 20 ft long to a section. It was unbelievably cold, trying to work in the snow, climbing the sides of the pit. The other guy knew what was going on, I did what he told me but mostly I stayed in the little shack we had and kept throwing coal into a little stove to keep warm. I think it took us (the other guy did 90% of the work) about 2-3 weeks to do the job, I was miserable.

    Then I got put on a jack hammer crew with my brother and a couple other young guys. We drilled holes in a road bed that was then blasted and dug out so the ore below the road could be mined when spring came. After one day on the jack hammer my wrists hurt so bad I could hardly work. The next day I shammed it, pretending to do a little and after 3-4 days I could actually produce a few holes in the frozen dirt. We did that for about 3 weeks and got laid off again, probably about the first of March, 1956. Jack hammer operators got driller’s wages so I was getting about $2.25 @ hour.

    Finally, Spring came and we got called back to work, the company had a contract for the type of ore we had so a second shift was put on, a third shift on the drills. I was promoted to driller at 18, working with the old guys. The proverbial pig in mud, now I had a helper. Overtime, week ends, etc, money was good for a kid. Then Guard camp came and I needed a break, took my vacation so I got paid for both work and Guard.

    Then strike talk! Our contract was over on June 30th, for the whole Cuyuna Range. Most of the old timers weren’t concerned, they lived like that their whole lives, a few days unpaid summer vacation and go back to work.

    Not me! I ran around telling everyone that I wasn’t going to put with this crap. If the strike lasted over a week I was going to Man Up and join the Army! Well, the 8th day came, no sign of the strike being over. I convinced my brother that we both should go in the Army. We were both in the Guard so we volunteered to be drafted, that was only a 2 year commitment plus it allowed the draft board to meet the quota for the month a little easier.

    The strike lasted 5 weeks, then back to work for 5 weeks before we got our military orders. Now I wasn’t too happy, we’d lost 5 weeks pay, got a modest pay increase, like 20 cents @ hour. The older guys got another week or two vacation but I’d lost 500 bucks at a job that lasted about 7 months a year at best and some years never saw the mines open for lack of a contract.

    We did our Army time, I ended up in Germany, my brother in Greenland. When we go home the mine was closed that year, as were most on the Cuyuna Range. I walked across the street from the State Employment office to the Army Recruiter, got lined up with a long tech school and re-enlisted, my brother hung around, thinking something would change.

    I did my 20 years Army time, a lot of it overseas. I had started going to college while I was in service and when I retired finished my last two years with a BS Ed. I never taught, my kids said I had no class. I was able to turn my education into second career in business.

    If it had not been for the union and going on strike I might never have had a reason to leave Podunkville and learn all the things that experience and travel provide. I went from being a farm kid in the woods full circle and ended up about 4 miles from where I’d started in 1955. Now though, my wife and I are comfortable as the years pass us by. I credit the union with giving me the reason to look beyond the limited horizons that I had at 18. I can not thank the union enough. I never looked back except to wave good bye.

  • Minnesota Nice Meetup

    Tomorrow is the big day. Finally, after years of lurking and then hesitant posting, I’d have a chance to meet some Minnesota Glibs. I’m a little excited, not in a sexual way, but more in “be prepared for a science test in high school” way. So it’s off to bed, hoping to get a good night’s sleep.

    Tomorrow, tomorrow, tomorrow…somewhere in the darkness I drifted off to sleep, just like Kenny Rogers’ “Gambler.” I’m all prepared, I have my clothes all laid out. I’d ironed my newest bib overalls, using spray starch to get the crisp crease, found my Christmas flannel shirt and I want to look my best so I’m going to wear the bow tie that has the flashing lights. I’ll have to remember to check the batteries to make sure the lights work alternately and will switch to both lights blinking together. As I get ready I decide to use some hair pomade but Dixie Peach is hard to find here so I went with the regular brand. I opened up the can of Bag Balm and it was nearly empty! I was able to use my little finger around the corners of the can and got about a tablespoon, not much but it will have to do. I made a mental note to get the economy size the next time I was in Tractor Supply. I want everything to be perfect, first impressions are important, just as Miss Sawyer said in English class.

    For a while I had thought for the occasion I’d wear my white painter’s bibs, the ones that have the Dickie’s logo on the patch in the front, but I couldn’t get enough of pine tar out of the knees from the day I helped my friend Gus unload a truck full of rough sawed pine. Besides, it’s not formal and the fashion magazines all say no white after Labor Day. Boots for the meet up ’cause I want to look manly but I won’t turn the socks down, I don’t want to appear pretentious. I checked my bow tie, making sure the wire to the batteries was hidden inside my shirt, a trick I’d learned from my older brother. I’d better stop and get extra batteries, I don’t want the lights to quit blinking halfway through the meet up. Checked myself in the ceiling mirror in the bedroom and I knew I was ready.

    Make the long drive to Minneapolis-actually to a northern suburb-to meet Pope Jimbo, Tundra and A Leap at the Wheel for the very first time. I know these fellas from their witticisms on the Glibertarians site. I don’t really know them, but I mean that’s where I’ve seen their well thought out insights and comedy efforts that always produce either awe or a hearty chuckle. We’re meeting at the Conference Room in Caribou Coffee and I admit to being a little nervous.

    I check in with the receptionist, a pert but matronly young lady- I would guess a high school drop out with two kids but studying for her GED ’cause her boyfriend wants her to get into Cosmetology School so she can work when he’s laid off in the winter. Right now she’s senior barista, cashier and table clean up, as well as Glibertarians receptionist.

    She directed me down the hall to Conference Room 3, but reminded me to use the Secret Knock. Oh, oh, I wasn’t prepared for that, but she whispers, “Shhh, middle two fingers, rap twice but firmly, wait exactly ten seconds, then flat palm the door, you’ll hear a ‘Come In’. Immediately open the door and enter.”

    Nervously, I approach the Conference Room. It had a large brass 3 on the door and below that someone has written “Janitor’s Closet” in magic marker. I use the Secret Knock, wait 10 seconds and follow it up with a flat palm. A voice from inside says, “Come in.” I try the door knob, one, two, three times, then the voice says…“Turn the knob in the other direction.” I do and the door opens. At this point I know I’ve committed a “Folks Pass” as we said in sophomore French Class.

    There is a folding leg card table in the middle of the room, four chairs, three men. I quickly survey the faces and try to put a name on each, from my observations of their comments. I recognize the more serious looking one as Leap, the good looking one as Tundra, and the happy one as Pope Jimbo. Now I approach the table and we start with the introductions. Leap stands up and offers his hand and says, “I’m Tundra.” I kiss his ring, noticing that it was the Monopoly Scottie dog. I go to Pope Jimbo, we shake, I kiss his ring which is the top hat and he says, “I’m A Leap at the Wheel, but you can call me Leap.” Now the last one, Tundra, is left and we repeat the formal introduction, his ring is the thimble, super glued in an inverted position, open end up. He says, “And I’m Pope Jimbo, but you can call me Pope or Jimbo or Mr J or Mr P but you don’t have to call me Johnson.” They all laugh.

    I start to sit down and I hear, “There are rules, Dude,” whispered from an unknown. I look up and see that sitting down first is Leap, followed by Pope Jimbo, lastly Tundra. Leap waves me into the empty chair. “We’ve been looking over your application and biography and find you’ve had a rather interesting life. The time you pushed the girl out of the way while getting on the school bus makes us believe you are a take charge kind of person.” I nodded, they were seeing things correctly. “And the time you saved your friend Bobby from walking into a puddle without probing the depth first was nothing short of heroic.” I was a little embarrassed at having to acknowledge these personal feats, but I really wanted to be accepted as a Glib.

    I looked across the room and saw a shelf with three caps, lined up like marines on parade. These were not knock-offs but genuine Glib merchandise, custom embroidered. From left to right they read:

    “Glibs Yesterday” then “Glibs Today” and lastly “Glibs Tomorrow”

    I could see a white plastic bag with a red cap in it that said “Glibs Forever” and an empty space on the shelf. I knew that would be mine if all went well today.

    Suddenly, the informalities were over and a certain aura fell over the room. Tundra announced that he had copies of the day’s agenda; I could participate in the discussion, but was not allowed to vote. He passed the agendas out and for my benefit explained the rules. There were ten subjects on the agenda that had been submitted and ranked according to their importance. Each person would have 90 seconds to discuss the implications and on to the next person. After everyone had a chance to speak, each person would get 30 seconds to summarize or rebut, then a vote would be taken. Leap would be the moderator, Tundra the time keeper because he had an official Special Olympics stopwatch with the big numbers, and Pope acting as a sort of controller, using a power point pointer (with the light on it) to signify who was in the on deck circle.

    So the discussion started. First item, how high should the wall be on the Mexican border that was being discussed nationally? A lively discussion with a lot of emotion, economics and established facts followed. I found it difficult to keep up because of the speed and coherence of the conversation.

    It was like this all afternoon, as agenda item after item was dissected and remodeled in a Glibertarian format. At one point someone mentioned MikeS’s idea/opinion and I pointed out that he was not a Minnesota Glib, but I heard the “There are rules, Dude” repeated so I dropped it.

    At the conclusion of the agenda discussion Happy Hour commenced and all formalities were dropped, everyone was relaxed, on a first name basis, like Leap, Pope and Tundra because it was hard to shorten up his name but still he didn’t seem to mind. The conversation was generally surly, sarcastic and offensive, much like the daily comments I’d come to enjoy from Glibs. Soon, however, the time had come to say goodbye. I felt I’d made an average to good impression. We all walked out together, laughing, enjoying the Glib camaraderie.

    As I got into my truck I noticed the same white plastic bag I’d seen in the conference room. Somehow the receptionist had sneaked that bag into the truck without me noticing. My heart was pounding. I opened up the bag, and there it was. A red hat with Glib embroidered on it and below that was “Forever.” I was in! Hat on, I sped out of the parking lot and was heading for home when I felt something bam-bam-bam in my back. “Uh-uh-uh” was all the sound I could make.

    “Wake up! Wake up! You were talking in your sleep again, some crazy thing about the Pope being A Sleep at the Wheel and driving on the Tundra.”

    Then it hit me, I’d been dreaming the dream of every novice Glib…

  • Retirement

    We all count the time until we can retire, cut the cord, turn out the lights or whatever we call the end of a career. We think about it, make some non-binding plans and dream, dream, ’til we finally fall to sleep. Then morning comes with a WTF? How am I gonna do it? Where am I gonna do it? Will I be able to do it? When? All these unanswered questions.

    Well, maybe for some its too early to even think about such long distance planning but those of you (I’m excluding myself) in your mid-40s, 50s, and 60s will be celebrating your birthday at a restaurant and its gonna be a big 5-0 or 6-0 birthday party and damn, what happened? That was quick.

    We’ve had discussions here about what we want to do at retirement but “Awh, its too early to worry about that” That’s not a helpful attitude so I’m here to help or not. First, answer the questions in the first paragraph. Got that? You’ll be asking yourself these same questions again and again and perhaps the answers will change but that’s OK too.

    When do I want to retire? When can I retire? Where do I want to retire?

    I decided about my 45th birthday that I wanted out at 55. I started looking towards that day and what I had to do to make it happen. Where? I had grown up in the woods of Minnesota, with the fishing/hunting and liked being outdoors, I still had a few friends there, my folks were buried nearby and a brother lived about 30 miles away so that’s where I thought I wanted to be. I owned a house in Texas but really no friends other than those I worked with and the Texas heat was not something that I enjoyed. Nothing permanent was holding me in Texas.

    I was working in the Midwest, living in the Twin Cities and spending time reading the country newspapers and visiting my brother when I could. I found some property that I liked, made a low ball offer that was rejected and kept looking. Found a 40 acre spot, with a terribly run down small house and a yard full of junk that had been on the market for a couple years. Price was high but evaluating the negatives I made an offer of about 1/3 the asking price, keeping in mind those negatives. The owner countered with an offer of about ½, I suggested we split the difference, he bumped me a little and we made a deal.

    I cleaned up everything that was burnable, old buildings/sheds/fences and clothes. I spent the winter hauling van load after van load of trash, mostly metal scraps, every week end for 6 months or more. By spring the yard was cleaned and time to tackle the house. The previous owner was a Copenhagen chewing bachelor and his habits were visible. The house was a kit, 18 X 26, costing 1200 dollars plus delivery and was about 30 years old. The sidewalls were 6’4” and I was 6’5” at the time. The roof was sagging badly, hadn’t been painted since the first time 30 years early and needed a total remodel and upgrade. I kept telling Mrs Fourscore that it was beautiful, she kept checking the yellow pages for psychiatric help.

    Anyway, I got my best friend to help me, we tore the roof off, raised the walls 20” and put new trusses and plywood on. I spent the rest of the weekend shingling and I was on my way. I took a week’s vacation a few weeks later, put on siding on the newly raised walls, new windows, sliding glass door and lastly primed the outside.

    I called my boss that Sunday night, he said, “Good, ’cause I have reservations for tomorrow for you to go to Berkeley, CA, we just bought a store and you ( meaning me) need to complete the deal and stay as long as necessary.” I was there for 5 weeks, remodeling, hiring, training. Fortunately after a couple weeks a good manager arrived.

    I then spent about 4-5 months’ worth of week ends gutting and remodeling the inside of the cabin, as we called it . My wife took back some of her doubts of my skills when she stayed in there for the first time and the shower worked and the lights turned on when she threw the switch.

    So now, we have a small place to live on weekends, modern, clean and warm but not very big. And still 7-8 years away from the magic 55 year mark. For now, though, a place to use for hunting/fishing and relaxing. Still a few years from retiring at this point though. It was great, nearly every week end and vacations would find me at the cabin, relaxing. Deer season came and I had a super hunting shack with all the amenities.

    Then the years rolled on and I explained to my wife that we should build our retirement home, our property was actually in 2 parcels, easy peasey to use the second parcel. It had been an old homestead with a big field and so I chose a spot near the back edge of the field. She was not super excited but after my whining and crying she finally gave in. So I started, two years before the date set for retirement.

    I won’t go into detail about the permitting but it wasn’t fun, had to be rezoned, etc. The good part was at that time there was no requirements for inspections other than an electrical. Had to have a well and septic system permitted. I contracted the basement, I had drawn my plan on graft paper, no blue prints since I was going to be flexible.

    The missus and I had agreed on 3 premises or requirements.

    1. It had to be warm (i.e. well insulated)
    2. The kitchen had to face the east, for harmony with Asian customs
    3. Every room had to have a window, including the basement.

    I contracted the basement block work, went a course higher (13 rather than the usual 12) because I was a pretty tall guy at the time and I wanted all the duct work under the basement ceiling. At that point I started nailing stuff together, every week end, leave work early and put 2 long days in over the weekend. That went on for two years, slowly, slowly a house took shape. I always took my tools with me but left the building supplies and fortunately had no theft.

    I pretty much did everything, I contracted the roof/shingles and steel siding but learned as I went for the rest. Retirement day came, I was 55, we were ready but there were still some finishing to do inside but at least we could live there and I was closer to my project. For a couple weeks dishes were washed in the bathtub, cooking was done on a hot plate and counter top oven. Master bath was finished, carpeting was not yet installed and the basement beckoned

    I finished out the basement and its sort of a man cave. I had planned on a pool table but that space got filled with an extra refrig and freezer and now the computer. Probably took another year to wind up everything, had to build a garage and then another one.

    I made some mistakes that I wished I hadn’t made but not too many. Some things were done twice, some things never have been done.

    Besides the what and where of retirement comes the how. In any case, my opinion is that one must have one’s retirement home paid for before retirement, unless you are fortunate to have a good income. House payments, along with taxes/insurance and maintenance will eat up a lot of most people’s monthly retirement income. On the other hand, there are options available to enjoy without the burden of worrying about your abode.

     

    My wife and I are rather frugal but she does like to travel. Living in the country we don’t need a lot of ‘nice’ clothes. I got by for several years wearing out the clothes I had worked in and mostly wear jeans now. We don’t spend a lot of money at restaurants, maybe a couple lunches a month while we’re shopping. We have dinner out with friends for birthdays and anniversaries but all in all mostly we eat at home. A big garden in the summer provides therapy and fresh food. Mrs Fourscore cans and freezes a few things. We enjoy fresh fish but I can’t get her to eat venison, too bad, ’cause she can really cook. More for me is all I can say.

    Our friends are similar, old, reclusive and comfortable being left alone. We help one another, drink a little coffee and socialize fairly often, more so in nice weather as opposed to winter. It was an easier transition for us because we moved back to where I had grown up and knew a few of the families. Trying to retire in an unfamiliar rural area would have been more difficult as folks tend to leave one another alone unless there is a commonality such as a church or club. We have great neighbors, in that no one bothers anyone.

    A couple of my neighbors shoot a lot. If I don’t hear them shooting I begin to worry that something has happened.

    There has been a lot of Glib discussion about retirement. If you have your place picked out and can negotiate a good bargain think about starting your new life. If it happens to have an abandoned old house perhaps the foundation can still be used, or the well, etc. Don’t worry about the grown up brush, 2 weekends and a fire will solve a lot of problems. All that junk on the outside has kept prospective buyers away and can be used to your advantage.

    10 years pass quickly. We’ve owned this property 33 years now, been retired 27. We had to say good bye to a lot of friends over the years but way better to have had them along the way than have had to live somewhere else with out them.

     

     

     

     

     

     

    The first ten years, 55 to 65, we were pretty much the same, physically. Then some tasks began to take longer, stuff got heavier, places got farther away. If you wait too long you may not be able to do those things you had planned to do when you retired. Good luck to all.

  • A Letter to Penthouse

    Dear Penthouse,

    I never thought this would ever happen to me. I’m kind of an average guy, quiet, introverted. For starters, I’ll have to give you a little background on how all this went down.

    Remember those times in the military or your job during the summer? You’d be sitting around with your buddies and one of them would start out with “This ain’t no shit” and you knew the rest of the story was gonna be BS. Well, I’ll skip that ’cause this really did happen to me.

    First the history. I was in the Army at the time and divorced, stationed at a large installation in Texas and had custody of two young kids. I was dating a cute Vietnamese girl that I had met a few years earlier. In March of 1974 we decided to get married and be a family. By the Spring of 1975 I figured I was not going overseas again, since I would be retiring in 1976. We decided to buy a house, I’d never owned one before, even though I was in my late 30s. We found a new 4 bedroom and got moved in in February 1975.

    Then things started happening, quickly. The war in Viet Nam was really heating up, the communists were headed south, towards Saigon, where my wife’s relatives lived. We were glued to the TV, no cable news back in the old days so every night we watched with anticipation as the war drew nearer and nearer. Then panic mode! The North Vietnamese army was on the outskirts of Saigon! We had no idea of what could or should be done but knew that we had to try something. The end was inevitable and closing quickly, tanks were everywhere, panic in Saigon.

    About the 24-25th of April we send telegrams to the US Embassy in Saigon, listing the names and ages of all the relatives and told them we wanted to sponsor them in the US. By that time there was chaos in VN, there was no functioning government and the embassy was a mad house, scrambling to get the Americans out. You’ve seen the end play out on TV hundreds of times, of the helicopters lifting off the roof of the embassy.

    We were heart broken, my wife in constant tears, not knowing what had become of her family. A few weeks later, like two or three, a phone call from someone at Camp Pendleton, CA telling us that someone wanted to talk to my wife. It was her brother! And her mother! And her sister! And her sister! And lots of nephews and nieces, some that she had never seen.

    Now the plot thickens. My wife’s uncle was Port Commander of Newport, Saigon, and a navy captain. As the war closed in and panic abounded he sent word to his own family and my wife’s to get the hell out of Dodge. Her brother rounded up the whole family, got them to Newport and the uncle got them on one of the last ships leaving Saigon. Her uncle stayed, even though his own family had left, to try to help others . He finally got on the last ship leaving the port.

    OK, now all of my wife’s family are at Camp Pendleton, processing the necessary refugee paper work, getting medical exams, etc. I was talking to Pendleton explaining that we would sponsor my wife’s family. They explained that there were quite a few and we said we would take them all. We learned there was 14 in all but we wanted all of them and they agreed. Now what?

    First thing is to figure out what we needed. I started building beds, including a couple double bunks, a double bed for my new brother-in-law and his wife and moving them into place. As it turned out there were 2 boys about my son’s age and 2 girls about my daughter’s age. Step cousins, so it was time to share bedrooms. The married couple and their 2 little boys would get a bedroom, the other 6 people would move into the double garage, I had wired it and finished out the front with windows, curtains and a door, rugs on the floor, TV and AC. Not great but not Pendleton tents either.

    Finally the big night, a Friday, when the new people would be arriving. We had two cars and a neighbor came with her station wagon to the local airport. As we waited the newspaper people and TV cameras showed up. What the hell is that? My 12 year old had alerted the media, unbeknownst to me. The plane arrived and the relatives started getting off, my wife hadn’t seen her family for close to 10 years. They kept coming and coming until 14 had finally got on the tarmac, there was joy in Mudville!

    We got them loaded in the cars and back to my house so we could take inventory. The kids were scared, they had no idea what was going on, they’d been on the ship for many days and a few weeks at Camp Pendleton. Somehow, the first beds had been assigned. I don’t remember but I’m sure there was food to eat. They were the first refugees to get to Temple, TX.

    It was June and kids were not in school. The next morning’s front page ran pictures of shy little bewildered Vietnamese kids. We were getting the 15 minutes of fame, on TV, the papers wanted more interviews with the people, my B-I-L spoke some English plus my wife interpreted so we sat and did the interviews.

    A phone call the next morning from someone asking if anyone of the newbies was looking for a job and
    could he donate some outgrown clothes? He suggested the company he was at and a couple days later I took the oldest nephew down to apply and he started working, less than a week after arrival. The following day, on Sunday, the school superintendent came by, all upset, because the youngsters would be in his school district and they didn’t speak English. I told him not to worry. Wife’s sister was soon working in a couple weeks as well.

    OK, here’s kind of a thumb nail sketch of the new folks. All references relate to my wife.

    Mother, early 60s, widow, no real work experience

    Brother, about 36-37, medical doctor, 2 kids
    Sister in law, brother’s wife, 36-37, also a medical doctor
    Nephew, brother’s son, 5 years old
    Nephew, brother’s son, 4 years old

    Sister, about 37-38, air traffic controller at Tan Son Nhut, 6 kids
    Nephew, 19, VN Air Force
    Niece, 17, student
    Nephew, 14, student
    Niece, 13, student
    Niece, 11, student
    Niece, 10 student

    Sister, 15, student

    Elderly lady, about 60-65, mother of brother’s wife

    After 1 month brother and family (including wife’s mother) drove to CA in a VW beetle that we had bought for them. I explained that they had to drive at night in the desert because of the summer heat.
    Now we are down to just 9 new relatives. The summer passed, kids watched TV, were learning a little English but not too much.

    School started, 7 new kids plus my 2 all got on the bus. My son and daughter got them into their classrooms OK, small country school. After a few days niece 11 came home crying ’cause she couldn’t understand the teacher but she was kicking butt in math. Another month or so teacher asked niece 13 where she lived, niece said Texaco and all the kids laughed, she came home and told her brothers and sisters and they laughed as now all were learning English pretty fast. Birthdays were a frequent and new event, a cake, a couple presents, and the kids were well on their way. Boys were throwing the football around in the front yard, girls were shooting hoops in the driveway. Mother was watching wrestling on TV and doing what she could around the house. Meals were non stop, it seemed. The wash machine and dryer never shut off.

    At Christmas time the niece 10 and 11 wanted a talking doll, as did my 9 year old, they were happy little girls. Everyone enjoyed their first American Christmas, all kids were doing well in school. On Jan 1st Sister and 6 kids moved into a low rent apartment only a couple miles from us but they were on their own. Mother and sister 15 stayed with us another 2 years.

    Now let’s take another look after nearly 44 years and see what has happened.

    Mother passed away about 20 years ago, having lived in a nursing home for many years after a stroke.

    Brother and wife passed their CA exams, worked as doctors in the Indiana prison system, until retiring and moving back to Orange County, CA. Brother developed Parkinson’s and passed away about 10 years ago. His wife retired, teaches piano pro bono. Nephews 4 and 5 graduated from Tufts U as dentists, practice in Orange County.

    Sister worked at Texas Instruments in assembly, then retail until retirement, moved to FL. Her kids, nephew 19 had a variety of jobs, got cancer and died at about 50. Niece 17 graduated med school, practiced as a pathologist, retired a couple years ago at about 58. Nephew 14 dropped out of high school, got a GED, graduated Iowa State with a BS in Chemistry, got a Master’s in Public Admin, works for the VA in FL. Niece 13 joined the AF, became an Air Traffic Controller, went to Civil Service as a n ATC at Sea-Tac, retired with 30 years. Niece 11 got a BS in Computer Science from UTexas and ran later into serious mental health issues. Lives on the street in Dallas, did a little time in the pokey for fraud and spent a stint in a mental hospital. Niece 10 dropped out of school, banged around for awhile, got her life in order, went to Dental Hygienist’s School and now is Top Gun at a big clinic in Mpls.

    Sister 15 got a math degree, maybe UTexas, not sure, teaches at a private school. Her husband was a cop, drowned while his wife watched. They had been married only a couple years and she has never remarried.

    S-I-L’s mother died in CA a number of years ago, maybe 10-15. So, let’s see, we have 9 youngsters that arrived in 1975. All married, mostly to Americans. 9 divorces (a couple were divorced twice), 1 widowed, 1 street person, 1 died, 2 single (divorced), 4 presently married. (Only 1 is on his only marriage). At this time in their lives most are doing well, minus the bag lady. Her family has tried to help her but the schizophrenia can’t be beat. One day she’ll be a Dallas statistic.

    Oh, the uncle that helped them make their getaway. His own family didn’t know he had escaped for several months as he had ended up in Guam. He and his family settled in Virginia and he worked in DC for a contractor until his retirement and ultimate death. My wife got to see him and his family before he died.

    If there is something good from the VN War, at least for me, was that my wife got her family back. We had an exciting time watching those kids mostly succeed, not without a lot of effort on their part. The Catholic Charity, Caritas, had allocated $400 per person for resettlement. I kept meticulous records of expenses, sending in the receipts every couple weeks. I would buy the groceries, divide by 18, take off 4 shares for us and Caritas would send a check for the other 14. As people left I would update the figures. I can’t remember how it all worked out but we wanted the new folks to have the leftover Caritas money. I think there may have been some residual for them to use later.

    Well, Penthouse, that’s about the end, not the usual ending to a Penthouse letter but a Happy Ending anyway.

  • Bee Business

     

    How does one get interested in something?

    I see the Glibs with their skilled hobbies, doing things, making things. I’m not a creative type person, I don’t see the same things when I see a block of wood or piece of metal or an old car that lots of other people see. It’s not that I don’t enjoy those things when someone else creates it, I just see the literal thing.

    Instead, I see a seed growing into a plant or a tree or a flower. That I understand. Those things that don’t require any input from me, except maybe for a little care or water or fertilizer. A few years ago a friend invited me to watch him work with his honey bees. Like many or most I had my own ideas as to avoid getting involved; who wants to get stung by those thousands of angry bees? He seemed to know quite a bit, had the suit and hat and seemed oblivious to the dangers I saw. Then we took the frames with the honey to his daughter’s house one Sunday; it was like a party, other people had brought a few frames and I got involved in the processing a little, the spinning and the bottling and was rewarded with a jar of honey to take home. Now I really was interested.

    The following Spring my friend asked me if I wanted a hive. He would help me, loan or give me the necessary equipment. He gave me enough to set up a hive and even assembled it out in my yard and I was in business, sort of. I still had no idea of what was going on, but I was helping him and in turn he was helping/teaching me but I still wasn’t too involved in the actual process. We weren’t doing very well; we did everything he knew, but our production was rather limited. Seemed like we weren’t progressing very fast.

    Then he decided he wasn’t interested anymore and his daughter kind of got tired of us spreading sticky honey all over her kitchen floor and leaving her to clean up the house and the equipment. She asked if I wanted to borrow her extractor and associated equipment. I had space to store all the equipment inside my garage, along with most of the excess (old and dilapidated) hive boxes and frames. Then I found a young guy (about 50 years old) that was interested and he bought a bee suit and I loaned him some of the equipment I had borrowed. We still weren’t very productive, our ROI was always between very negative and deeply negative.

    We did that for a couple years, and a visiting fishing friend was here and was a long time beekeeper with lots of expertise. He looked at our setups and taught us some things we weren’t doing, and that year production shot up. He came again the following year and showed us more of his knowledge and skills, and he worked barehanded with only a hat and veil. Our production has soared for the last 3 years. We’re a long ways from professionals, but it’s sure a lot more fun when the honey is plentiful. Best of all we have a party at the extraction time, with Minnesota Hot Dish Pot Luck being on the menu. Most of my friends and neighbors are rather experienced (old) cooks so the food is good/plentiful and highly seasoned for Minnesota people, ketchup and mustard–but not Dijon–being the staples.

    Now, for those who are still reading this, I’ll try to pass on some of the things we do.

    We tend to think that beekeeping is only important in the summer when the bees are active, but it really is a year round project, with not much going on in the off season but still a little. We don’t winter our bees over; we have tried but the winters here are too severe. We’ve tried covering them, moving them into a shed, surrounding them with bales of hay. Nothing worked. There is hive clean up in the off season however.

    What is needed to have bees and to extract the honey, one of the main purposes of having bees?

    Equipment needed

    A hive, consisting of 2 brood boxes and 2 supers (boxes)
    A feeder tray
    10 frames for each box (actually more are necessary)
    A top cover
    A base boar

    For the skilled wood craftsman with a table saw, the boxes are fairly simple to make. For me, however, I buy them precut and assemble them myself. This is a wintertime project that gets me thinking about spring. If you are lucky enough to find some good condition hive boxes on Craigslist or a weekly shopper, even better. The problem with used equipment is there could be diseases or pests included.

    A feeder. Here in Central Minnesota our bees come early enough there isn’t any nectar yet available for the bees and they have to be fed. We buy some premade stuff that’s supposed to have protein, but sugar syrup or corn syrup is often used. Follow the recipe for the sugar syrup.

    A smoker. They are fairly expensive, about $45 or so but essential. We use dry red pine needles for fuel, creates great smoke.

    A hat with a veil. I use a broad brimmed hat with a mosquito net. A bee hat/veil is better, it keeps the bees away from your face better than a mosquito net. Again, pricey, $45 or so.

    Long gloves that extend over your sleeves, they have to be flexible enough to use tools but tough enough that the bees can’t sting through them. Kiss another 30-40 bucks away. I use yellow cotton gloves (Mr Cheapskate) but I sometimes get stung around the wrists when the jacket sleeves pull up.

    A bee keeper jacket is nice because the veil is zipped directly onto the jacket. Mr CS wears a buttoned up shirt, a jacket zipped all the way up and mosquito net pulled over the turned up collar. So far haven’t gotten bit around the neck or face lately.

    A frame tool, about 7-8 bucks but a screwdriver or a flat bar tool for pulling nails would work. The frame tool is a little better. The equipment is available on line, I use Mann Lake Bee Co, mainly because they are only 50 miles away and they have an online catalog as well.

    That’s pretty much all the start up equipment.

    OK, you found some clean hive boxes and other associated equipment on Craigslist. Buy it all or at least twice as much as you think you’ll need. Make a package offer. Not many people are going to be interested in it, the seller wants to get rid of either the equipment or his/her spouse because often those things may not be compatible.

     

     

    Where to start

    Now that winter is here and all the bee stuff is in my garage, it’s time to start cleaning the hive boxes and frames. Bees are hard workers but tend to be a little untidy inside the hive. They glue everything together with a homemade glue called propolis. I scrape the propolis from the frames and the boxes; it has hardened into something like amber and requires a little work. I like the frames to be clean at the beginning of the season so they can be removed for inspection or moved around inside the hive box.

    OK, we’re all cleaned up and finally it’s time to set up the hive in preparation for the bee arrival. I haul my stuff to a location near my garden. It’s a small platform about a foot high and about 6 feet long, big enough for two hives. Has an electric fence around it to keep out bears. We’ve had a few problems over the years and on one occasion required terminal action.

    The assembly is bottom board, 2 brood boxes, each with 10 clean frames, feeder tray and top cover. That’s it.

    We’ve pre-bought the bees at Mann Lake Bee Co, (Hackensack, MN) and have an appointment on the Saturday after the bees arrived from California, in a 40 ft trailer, usually in May.

    We have a ritual. My partner, another friend and I go to pick up the bees. I drive my pick-up. We leave early enough to stop at a country restaurant for breakfast, one of my friends picks up the tab. At Mann Lake it’s a mad house, even though we have an appointment, everyone, including us, arrives a half hour early. There are hundreds of anxious customers. Mann Lake is prepared with lots of people working invoices, sales and helping with the loading. We pick up our protein syrup and any ancillary equipment that we need, head for the bee barn, a greeter takes our invoice and brings out our order of 4 boxes of bees. Bees are sold by the pound; we get 3-pound packages, roughly 10K bees plus a viable queen per pack. The bee boxes remind you of the screened frog boxes you kept your frogs in before they all died waiting for your dad to find the time to take you fishing.

    My partner has essentially the same set up at his property, platform/fence/etc. Now we don our bee apparel. We put out his bees first, we spray them with sugar water through the screen, immediately they go into an eating frenzy, cleaning themselves and unconcerned about us. They get roughly dumped into the brood box, my partner opens the queen enclosure and gently places the enclosure in the top brood box. Next comes my attempt to pour the super elixir into the feeder tray, which is now on top of the brood boxes. Cover with the top cover and voila! Do #2 hive and we’re finished. Go to my house and repeat.

     

     

     

    After about 2 weeks we will inspect the hives by checking the feeder trays, refilling if necessary.

    Usually by this time the bees are finding enough nectar to support themselves. If they seem to be doing well we’ll remove the feeder tray and replace it with a hive box with the clean 10 frames. Now we are hoping that the queen is alive and making babies. We are hoping that in another 2 weeks some of the frames will be filling with honey. I will be doing a visual inspection about 3 times a day, mainly ’cause I am curious and have lots of time, to see if the bees are bringing in pollen.

    OK, now it’s been 1 month since we set up the hives and put in the bees.

    We do a serious inspection and find some frames are full of honey and capped with wax. We will pull those frames and replace them with empty frames. The honey frames will be placed in plastic bags and put in a freezer in my garage, to avoid any problems with bears or other bees robbing the hive. About every 2 weeks all summer we’ll pull full frames, replace with empty. Sometimes the queen will have moved up into the hive box and begun laying eggs in it. Then we have to use our second hive box so at that point we’re 4 boxes high (2 brood, 2 hive). Happens frequently.

    We have about a 3 month season here and with good luck we’ll have close to a 100 or so frames of honey. On the last pull, always the second week end of September, we’ll close out and take all frames that have enough honey in to make it worthwhile. The last step in this stage is to move the bees from my house to my partner’s property. Now instead of 10K per hive we’re looking at 30-40K per hive.

     

     

    All summer the bees have been rather docile, now they are agitated, we have stripped most all of the honey.

    We have the smoker pouring out smoke, that seems to help a little to quiet them down. I pick up a brood box and carry it to the truck. There are thousands of bees that are eager to bite me, I’m the Cheap guy with the short yellow gloves and they have found the skin around my wrists. Finally we get them into the truck, minus those that were flying or foraging when we were busy moving them. Without headgear/veils it would be impossible. This past September, I got hit 7 times that day; the stings aren’t so bad but always itch for a few days. We haul the bees about 5 miles and put them with my partner’s bees. We move the bees to avoid having them around on the following Sunday when we spin out the honey. If we didn’t move them we’d have those bees trying to recover the honey that we had taken all summer and it would be tough to try to work. Innocent folks would get stung.

    Now comes the good part.

    After the rather routine stuff all summer comes the Honey Harvest. On the 3rd Sunday of September we spin out the honey. We have an extractor that looks like an old fashion ringer washing machine tub. On the day before, I have taken all the frames out of the freezer, put them into empty hive boxes, warmed them up so the honey would flow easier. Early Sunday we start to work, uncapping the frames, spin them in the centrifuge and strain and bottle our work. We have a crew that shows up, some fly in from Dallas/Seattle, some come from Minneapolis. Guests show up about 10-11 AM and the finale is at noon when all the ladies bring out their secret recipes of hot dish and we have a great pot luck lunch. We eat and go back to work, the guests renew their acquaintances and start to drift off. The following day I’ll take a hot water hose out and wash the equipment, let it dry for a day or two and cover it up ’til the next season. Easy-peasey clean up.

     

     

    Many years ago we started with chips/dip and venison sticks, now its become a great buffet. This year we had about 40 people, some were classmates. The Pope came and blessed our endeavors, hopefully in 2019 we’ll have more Glibs, all are welcome. Family friendly, entertaining, educational.

    If any Glibs are interested,  go on line to Mann Lake Bee. See their catalog. I have seen hives in Austin, TX, in the city, easy for urban dwellers if you have a privacy fence. Check locally for bee keeper associations, find a club, or best of all, find a partner with some knowledge, help him for a year or two, watch YouTube videos. Don’t expect to make any money selling honey, the equipment is too expensive unless you are serious.

    We don’t sell any, just give it away for gifts. One has a lot more friends when one is gifting honey. I’ve heard that there is some potable beverage that can be made with honey and other ingredients. I’ll be happy to entertain questions.