Twenty-something to eighty- something

My line of work requires me to spend the majority of my days with the geriatric population.

I cant help but imagine myself in my 80s or 90s (if I’m one of the lucky ones that make it that long). I always think about what type of memories i’d reminisce on. Where would I want to be transported back to? The answer is always here, to the apiary. Walking through a field of grass, grass so tall it towers over my head. The long path I’ve weed whacked and walked up and down a million times over. To my little spot up on the hill. Where all the bees fly freely, the birds chirp loudly, the butterfly’s float effortlessly. Everything living, and breathing, in such harmony with one another.

I know one day my body won’t be able to keep up. The heavy brood boxes and honey supers. Standing up there for hours in the hot sun, bending, lifting, twisting. I know one day it’ll all be a faint memory and a time of the past. But I will live these days and appreciate them. I will eat my body weight in honey and share it with those around me. And until my older days come, i’ll gladly hangout and help the ones who have came before me, listen to their stories and fond memories of their own lives. Most importantly I’ll hold space for them, and myself. Always remembering that nothing lasts forever. Nothing. And isn’t that kind of a beautiful thing.