Golden Honey Jars on a Sunny Counter in Sweetwater

The tailgate of Arthur’s truck dropped with a heavy metal clang that echoed across the gravel. He was already rolling the first of six bright blue industrial drums toward the barn door before I could set down my clipboard.

“What are those for, Arthur?” I asked, rubbing my left thumb against my palm.

“New blend of winter feed,” he said, not looking up continue reading …