Golden Honey Jars on a Sunny Counter in Sweetwater

floor of the bottling shed. My grandson David stood in the doorway, adjusting the brim of his blue baseball cap.

“Need some help around here, Grandma?” he asked.

“David,” I said, my heart lifting for a brief second before I saw the tight set of his jaw. “I thought you were busy up in Atlanta.”

“Had some free time,” he said, keeping his eyes on his boots.continue reading …