The year was 1961, and I was seven years old. My parents had moved us back
down from Hutchinson, Kansas to a small shack on Brushy Creek straight
across the creek from the large ridge, known as the “Nutter Ridge”,
first homesteaded by my great, great grandfather, Charlie Nutter, a full
blooded Crow Indian. It is in the heart of the Missouri Ozarks, not
far from where I was born. It would be a time in my life that I would
remember for the rest of my days. The summer that followed would be a
learning experience that is impossible to find in any class-room. Our
cabin was just about two miles up the creek from my grandparent’s
homestead, a small hilly farm that had acquired the name, “The Slavens Place” because Slavens was the name of the original
homesteader. It was approximately 8 miles below the little town of
Eldridge Missouri. A wilderness classroom if ever there was one!
The farms were all surrounded by
the creeks, the Brushy, the Woolsie, and the Little Niangua. It was along
these creeks that the forest grew big, thick and rich, and nearly
untouched by any sign of progress. It would be there in the shade of the
big Oak and Pawpaw trees, that I learned one of the most significant
things in the life and culture of the Ozark Hills people. This lesson was
how to rob honey from a bee tree.
Robbing a bee tree was usually
undertaken in the late evening, when cooling off would force the bees back
to the hive, or the early morning hours, before the sun had warmed them up
enough to fly off in search of flower nectar; and they were still swarming
in the hive.
It was important to catch them
gathered together, so you could chase all of them away, and not be
attacked in surprise by bees returning with nectar to the hive. The most
common time of year was early to late fall, but it could be done with
lesser results all summer long.
I remember it like it was yesterday, the
day my grandfather woke me up and told me I could go with the crew to rob
the bee tree. “The crew” consisted of my grandfather, my uncle, my father
and now, of course, myself. I was thrilled.
Knowing how important it was to
most people of the Ozarks for the breakfast table to be adorned with
fresh honey, I had always wanted to be part of the crew that brought in
the honey.
This day, we would go out early
before breakfast around 5:30 in the morning, in the hopes of catching the
bees on the comb before they had set off for the day. With luck, we would
be back for breakfast by 7:00 AM. The others in the crew had been up
ahead of me by at least an hour, had already had their morning coffee, and
had begun to gather the equipment needed for the job of extracting the
honey.
This was not the equipment you
would normally think of in terms of modern bee hives. It would include a
small container of coal-oil, what we call kerosene today, a stick with an
old rag of some kind tied around one end of it, to be soaked with the
coal-oil, a milk pail, usually a 2-1/2 to 5 gallon metal bucket, with a
wire handle, used to put the honeycomb in once it had been removed from
the tree, and finally an ax to be used in the event that the bee tree had
to be cut down in order to reach the honeycomb.
Today, no self respecting bee
keeper would go near a hive with less than a full body suit, and screened
face shield, in fear of being stung to death. I always figured the old
timers must have been less allergic to bee stings than we all are now.
These old timers' would probably be arrested for violation of OSHA safety
regulations today.
After all the equipment necessary
was gathered together in a bunch, and sitting at the yard gate; after the
crew was properly dressed in jackets and hats to knock off the morning
chill, and as my grandmother was in the kitchen whipping up sourdough
biscuits to go with the honey, we were ready to hike off into the woods in
search of the bee tree.
It was not known to me at the
time, but my grandfather had been scouting the bee trees most of the
summer, and knew directly where they were located. This was, as it would
take hours to find one, unless you already knew where to go.
In looking for a bee tree, one
should look for heavy forest canopy with some dead or partly dead trees
that have holes in them. They’ll be located near water, such as a creek,
pond or a spring. Like everyone else, the bees need water available to
them, to perform their life functions and to make honey and comb.
The sound outside a bee tree is
unmistakable, and can be heard from a distance of about 65 feet. Back
then, it would have been difficult for me to describe the sound to you,
but now, thinking back, I can tell you it was like hearing, from a long
distance, the sound of a large chain saw engine running at idle speed. That is, unless you get close enough to hear the high-pitched buzzing.
