This week, Robb bottled up some of the beer that he brewed, recently. This particular batch is a Kolsch, which promises to be a nice summer ale.
I made insanely delicious plum jam.
And we harvested our first honey. We didn't really plan on collecting any honey, but the bees had built some more eccentric honeycomb, and it was so badly ripped during a hive inspection that the bees were drowning in the honey. We decided to pull the frame of honey, and bottle it up, using the crush-and-strain method.
Those were all the things that worked beautifully.
Not quite so successful was Robb's run-in with bee-sting acupuncture. When he was in the rehab hospital, he received a lot of acupuncture, as the hospital taught (among other things) traditional Chinese medicine. Today, a bee climbed up inside his shirt, and stung him right on an acupuncture point that activates the bladder. Someone who had not been exposed to this particular acupuncture experience might have been horrified when a bee-sting sent them rushing to the bathroom. Robb took it all in stride.
However, between the Benadryl and the bathroom, we opted to stay home tonight.
Also, not entire successful was my attempt at taking special care of the feral kitties. As I suspected, our funky little neighborhood shoots off a lot of commercial grade fireworks. It seems that the neighbors use any excuse to blow things up, to the point that our immediate next door neighbors always leave town for the Fourth of July. I was really worried about the safety of the feral cats, remembering how in Baltimore, people used to shoot their guns up into the sky every Forth of July. Inevitably, people got killed this way.
So, I lured the cats inside with food, and poor shy sweet Sleeves immediately ran up our chimney, and hasn't come out yet.
Robb is convinced that the cats are going to associate being inside with terrifying explosions. I'm just happy that they're inside. It's pretty intense outside.