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smaller. Ma kept telling me to stay back and keep quiet because I was scaring the fish away.
She said I might fall in and find snakesunder that log. Snakes bite. I just kept easing out on

the log^-I wanted to fish right where she was.
I fell—but a snag of a limb caught my dress afid there I was up in the air over the
water swinging back and forth. I was pretty scared. Ma must have seen that I was in no

danger because she kept right on fishing as if nothing had happened.
She finally said, “I kept telling you to stay back on that log and not come any further!”
She sure took her time untangling me and getting my feet back on .the log.

oney

There were times I wanted something sweet so bad that I’d tell my parents, “I sure
wish I had some honey!”
Pa would answer, “I’ll see if I can find a bee tree. I’d like some honey, too.”

Within just a few days he would say, “Pearl, I found a bee tree. Get all of the washtubs
cleaned up, and I’ll cut it down tomorrow.”
A bee tree usually is a hollow tree. Sometimes the woodpeckers made round holes
into the hollow to make their nests. Years later, the bees would use those holes to enter and

exit the hollow tree. The bees made tiny pockets of wax and then filled them with honey.
On his search for honey, Pa would put on his bee robber hat, a wide brim straw hat

like a farmer’s straw hat. The night before, Ma sewed a piece of lightweight screen wire all
the way around the edge of the brim to keep the bees away from his head, face, and neck. He
wore a heavy undershirt, a couple of shirts, and gloves. He then tied his britches legs around
his ankles, and stuffed them into the tops of his shoe. He had a bee smoker (bellows) and set

rags, on fire, letting them smolder and smoke without a flame. He could pump the bellows
and just pile out the smoke. The bees couldn’t stand the smoke. They tried to get out of it.

Pa then sawed the tree down, split it open so he could detach the honeycomb from the
inside of the tree. He robbed the bee tree when it looked like millions of bees surrounded
him—but he never got a sting from a single bee. It seemed like the bees would fly a mile to

our house just to sting me—and I wasn’t bothering them! They got all tangled up in my long
hair and go buzz-z-z-z! I’d get my comb and run it through my hair to get them out before
they could sting me.

Ma served the fresh honey on hot biscuits with butter. But I really loved to chew the
wax comb and burst those little pockets. I’d let the honey run out of the pockets into my
mouth, then I’d chew the comb for chewing gum.

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