Tangible Memories

 Robyn and I celebrated our 17th year together last Sunday.

And this year's gift might have been the most meaningful I've ever given them.

In 2021, I decided to make a temperature blanket for 2022. Being a dyer, I knew I wanted to use my own colors. I picked 12 of my standard colors and dyed them up on my Familiar base.

I decided to have both the high temperature and low temperature for each day. And if there was snow, rain, or a mix of the two, I added in a third color.

Because I am a sentimental nerd, I had planned on cast on on 219 stitches. 2/19 is our anniversary.

I was so excited to work on this thing.

In fact, the last pic I took before the accident was most of the yarn laid out on my desk, just waiting to start.

I had seen a post on Reddit with someone else's temperature blanket where they made tassels out of the ends instead of weaving them all in. And that's what sold me on the idea.

And then 2022 happened.

I didn't actually get to cast on until Robyn was in rehab. 

I remember hooking the swift and ball winder to the railings of the bed, worried that the squeaking of the swift would bring in the nurses.

I knit on this thing through every therapy appointment. A lot of people asked me what I was working on while I waited on Robyn.

I fell behind as the temperature got warmer. But I had hopes of finishing it in time for the anniversary of the accident.

That didn't end up happening, so instead I decided to gift it to Robyn for our anniversary. So for the entire beginning of 2023, I knit and knit and knit and knit some more, burning through 6 months of temperatures in weeks.

As I neared the end, I started looking for a leather tag to put on the blanket to finish it off. And it needed to say something very specific. A friend, Carrie (Carrie In Color ), was down to help me out and I commissioned the tag from her.

And being the person I am, I couldn't actually wait until the damn thing was completely done to give it to Robyn. A full TWELVE DAYS before our anniversary, I handed Robyn the tag and told them that the blanket was for them.

And they just absolutely broke.

"We fucking made it"

That's what did it. Reading that let them release a whole well of emotions they didn't realize they were holding in. 

 
The knitting itself was completed on February 6th.

The final tally for yarn was 13 skeins.
5,292 yards.
Three whole miles.

You can tie the strands of yarn end to end and stretch from our house to where the accident occurred.

I feel a little lost now, to be honest.

I kept finding myself seeing it raining or snowing and wanting to go note it down for the day.

Robyn really loves it, though. They say it's their favorite thing I've ever made them.

I think that's a pretty good compliment, with seventeen years worth of gifts behind it.

A Day Worth Celebrating

Today is Robyn's 36th birthday.

Most of the time, they don't want too much of a fuss made. A nice evening in, some good food, and they're happy.

But this year is different. This year feels like it needs a party, a parade, an entire world full of people celebrating my beloved.

Because they very nearly weren't here to celebrate at all.

Throughout the day today, that thought has slammed into my chest over and over. And the only thing I can do is to grab Robyn and hold them tight and just say 'I love you' over and over and over again.

But they are here. And we're through this nightmare of a recovery process. We're together and alive and I am so thankful.

So happy birthday, babe. You are amazing and wonderful and resilient and the strongest fucking person I know. I am so incredibly proud of you for not only not letting the consequences of the accident slow you down, but instead have somehow let it help you grow.

The way you are unashamedly yourself now and on the path to pursuing what you want out of life is absolutely awe inspiring.

I can't even tell you how lucky I am to get to stand beside you and watch you take on the world.

I love you so much, babe. Happy birthday and many, many, many happy returns.

The End, Unending

What do you do when you've completely lost all hope?

Even at the end of 2020, I had some small little spark of hope. A tiny part of my heart that thought maybe, just maybe we'll find a way through this.

Foolish, stupid, ridiculous heart.

I see people posting about how they still had a good 2021, despite it all. And I get so, so angry at them. How dare they be happy? How dare they show any joy?

I know it's irrational and misplaced. Doesn't stop me from feeling like that.

I have written in the past here so many times before about how awful of a year I had. I fucking MISS those 'worst years'.

In order, here's my 2021:
January:
Both of my in-laws end up with covid, my father-in-law dies from it.

February:
Robyn loses their job.
Our sewer breaks, causing my business to come to a grinding halt for MONTHS.

March:
I have a complete gender crisis.*

April:
My mother has a stroke, and is still dealing with an unknown illness that is still slowly weakening her.
It becomes clear that Booda, my baby boy, is suffering and needs to be put down.
Not even a fucking week after that, my BEST FUCKING FRIEND dies from covid. Her family is fucking AWFUL about it, making an already traumatic event so much worse.

June:
The sewer still isn't fixed, meaning I had to turn down an exciting dye job for my LYS.

August:
We lost our cat, Phelix.

September:
Grandma falls at work and breaks her leg, which also causes the business to halt as my sister who lives with her (and who helps me with the yarn) is taking care of grandma.
I have an extremely terrifying menstrual cycle that causes my anxiety and dysphoria to spike. I lose so much blood that I almost pass out.
This leads to a ptsd-flashback-triggering doctor appointment that still doesn't give me definitive answers.

October:
Find out that Robyn has elevated cholesterol and I don't, but somehow my body is the problem?

November:
My anxiety gets so bad that I have heart palpitations for a week straight.

December:
Multiple friends have covid or are in isolation, waiting to see if they do.
My mother-in-law probably has covid again.

And through this all, my mental health has tanked. I am never not anxious anymore. I have reverted back to bad habits that damage and compromise my closest relationships.

I finally started therapy, but I am really, really struggling with everything. I hardly knit this year. Most of the projects I completed I couldn't even bring myself to post about them.

And as I'm typing this, I find out Betty White died. Just... fucking hell.

I feel like a hollowed out shell. I'm still going through the motions of existence, but I'm not alive. And as omicron now ravages the world, I struggle to see an end to it all that isn't just bleakness and despair. It's an unending end.

I have no hope or desires for 2022. None. I have seen just how awful humanity can be and I know we're not escaping.

I'm not going to leave you with empty platitudes or well wishes.

Just hold on to your hope if, by some miracle, you have any left.

As for me, I'll still be trapped in this house, watching everything burn down around me.

Happy 2022.
Fuck.

 

 

*This is not a bad thing at all, but it still was (and is) overwhelming to deal with in the middle of everything else.

The Performance of 'Womanhood'

CN: Gender Feels, Self-Harm, Body Mutilation, Menstruation

Also to note, these feelings are towards cisgendered, menstruating women

I was reading a post on one of my witchcentric subreddits about a mom who had (with her daughter's enthusiastic permission) thrown a 'red tent' party when the daughter started her first period. It was carefully done as a way not to tell the girl "you are a woman now and you must now bear responsibility and caution," but as a celebration of change and the growth bodies go through. A way to break the stigma surrounding menstruation.

 

It was lovely and wonderful.

 

And it made me feel so Othered.

 

I started thinking about my own experiences with menstruation. The shame. The trauma. How I don't think I've ever had an "okay" period.

 

Every time it happens, I want it to stop Stop STOP.

 

I feel so disconnected from my body. I feel like I've lost control of myself. I want to rip myself open and claw my uterus out. I want to mutilate my body so I don't have to deal with it.

 

Having highly irregular periods was a blessing for so long. I could go a whole year with maybe a week or two of spotting the whole time and it was glorious.

 

I have never been able to embrace my menstrual cycle as I was expected to. I resented being told that I was A Woman who now bore the power to grow a child and this meant that I must Protect My Virtue from men at all costs. I could not let these men see that I was Growing Into a Woman. I must hide myself away. I must cover myself.

 

Don't sit like that.

Don't say these things.

Don't let them know that you are Changed.

 

Don't

Don't

Don't

 

All these rules. All these expectations.

 

It makes it seem (from the perspective of a white person in the Midwest) that 'being a woman' has this almost mystical aura to it. It is a ritual to perform. A carefully cultivated one.

 

I did not choose to be a woman, yet I was (and still am since I'm not really out to my family) expected to perform 'womanhood.' Specifically cisgendered, heterosexual 'womanhood.'

 

I'm expected to want to have children.

 

I'm expected to Find A Man At All Costs then spend the rest of my life resenting and complaining about this Man.

 

I'm expected to give up dreams and ambitions and any sense of 'self' to care for these children and this man. I must not only work and bring in money, but also do the cooking and cleaning and child rearing. All with a smile on my face.

 

Isn't it great to be this vision of 'woman' we have forced upon you?

 

Women around me try to find common ground with me. They perceive me not as I am, but as they expect me to be. They share their stories and expect me to reciprocate my own. If I am to be included I must perform their vision of womanhood perfectly.

 

Even well-intentioned cis women outside of this vision make me feel like there's something inherently wrong with me. They still expect me to relate to their experiences of being a woman and when I don't, I'm pushed out yet again.

 

I'm constantly on the outside staring in, staring in horror, and in a warped sense of longing. Oh, to be one of them! To be embraced and included!

 

It's given me such a twisted sense of envy sometimes.

 

I'm fighting against it. And I'm fighting to be perceived as me. I am not 'woman.'

 

My femininity is not a woman's femininity. My femininity is my own.

 

I am nonbinary and I'm tired of being told I'm not.

A Year/Six Years/Thirty-One Years And/Of Change

I meant to write this for the one year shop anniversary on July 17th.
But I didn't.

So I thought I'd do it for the blog's six year anniversary.
But I couldn't.

Now it's my 31st birthday. An event that I thought would be celebrated with friends and loved ones. 

But, once again, I'm away from my friends. And with a piece of my heart missing.

I want to stop feeling hopeless and sad. I want to be able to move past this grief. But I don't know how. So I'm just going to write and write and hope you'll forgive my rambling.

I have so much gratitude for all the support and absolute outpouring of love that everyone has shown me. I still can't believe that what started as way to keep my hands busy and the demons quiet grew into all of this.

I have changed so much over this/these year/6 years/31 years. I have learned so much about myself.

I have learned to embrace my demons, to give into my creativity.
I have learned that I am so much stronger and more capable than I ever thought.
I have learned that I am so very blessed to have built a whole community of wonderful, supportive people who have helped keep me afloat.

Thank you all for reading/buying/loving all that I do. Thank you for embracing my creations and your extreme patience as I have stumbled through these growing pains. 

This is one year/six years/thirty-one years.
This is now.

May there be tomorrow. 

Fifteen

Today is Robyn and I's 15 year anniversary.

It was a weird day.

We had plans on spending the day together. They had the vacation time, so they were going to take the day off.

Instead, they spent the day finishing up their last tasks for work because they were let go.

It's been terrifying. I now find myself as sole income for our household. Which means I spent the day sitting at the computer, trying to get a shop update out. To try and sell more yarn. To try and keep us afloat. I ended up with my third headache in two days.

We laid on the couch and cuddled as they clocked out for the last time. They ended up falling asleep on the couch, worn out from the emotional nuclear bomb the last couple months have been. 

I made us dinner. Not anything special like I wanted. But it was good at least.

And now we're sitting at our computers, doing our usual Friday night routines.

They don't know I'm writing this. 

This is actually my first post of 2021.

I hope you don't mind the rambling. Words are hard anymore.

We've reached the point where we've been together for so long that I have trouble remembering things from the beginning of us.

Life has blurred so much of it together.

But what I know is that I love Robyn more now than I did at the beginning.

I love how we've grown together. I love how comfortable we are with each other. I love our easy companionship and wordless understanding. \

And I love how much we still make each other laugh.

Today was a weird day. 

But at least we got through the weird together.

Lagging

So, it's been a while, hasn't it?

I showed off my new shawl, talked a little about the shop, and just fucked right off for months.

I could say that the shop has been consuming all of my time, but that's not exactly true. Don't get me wrong, it's A LOT of work, but not so much that I couldn't have written a blog post or two.

If I'm honest with myself, I think I've been hiding from the world. If I didn't write about the sheer hell happening, I wouldn't have to acknowledge it. I wouldn't have to deal with it. I was shielding myself. 

I wouldn't have a record here of what all had happened. And maybe in time, the memories wouldn't be as traumatic since I wouldn't be able to remember it all clearly. 

But that's still not all of it.

I actually went back and read all my blog posts from this year and found this from "Threadbare" I wrote in January.

"I just feel so utterly lost right now. I've barely been knitting. Everything I've cast on has been thrown to the side soon after with disgust because NOTHING feels good in my hands. Or I would make a mistake that previously probably wouldn't have bothered me, but now I just can't live with it.

I even tried crocheting again, hoping to bring back the spark of passion with wool. I couldn't even get past the first 4 rows without frogging it.

I had planned on having some new craft goal for 2020, but I don't think I can. I don't even know what my creative abilities are going to look like at the end of the next 12 months."

And this one from "In Sheep's Clothing" in February.

"I know we're not supposed to compare ourselves with other people. We should be proud of what we as individuals can accomplish. But I follow so many accounts on social media just absolutely filled with folks seemingly churning out colorwork sweaters, socks, and other garments at a frightening pace.

It seems every week these folks have new projects falling off the needles.

And I'm sitting back here, hoping to finish one project in less than 2 months.

How do you push yourself through this?"

And I can't help but still feel like this. Seeing people on like their dozenth quarantine sweater tends to make one feel quite inadequate. Especially when it took me two bloody weeks to knit a simple pair of fingerless mitts.

"But Ashtan," you say. "We're going through a global pandemic and a new earth-shattering event like every other week. Surely it's okay to not be making as much stuff?"

Yeah, well, let me sum up how I feel about that in a handy-dandy meme format.

But somehow, miraculously, with the cooler weather here I'm wanting to knit again. I'm making again. I've found a fierce little flame of joy and I am holding onto it with everything I've got right now. 

I've actually finished two large projects within the last week. I've already cast on my next project and I can't wait to get back to it after finishing this post up.

And if that wasn't enough, I also already have my next post started to show off the shawl that I knit earlier this year that FINALLY captured my spouse's heart enough to steal it right from my hands. 

(Yeah, I haven't been completely paralyzed. I have managed to make some things, but never had the heart or energy to post them here.)

Did I mention that it also features an utterly ridiculous Ashtan story with it?

Here's a little preview.

My friends, I've missed you. And I am so, so happy to be back.

Regarding the Opening of Black Goat Fibers

After discussing it with Robyn, I've decided to postpone the opening of Black Goat Fibers until July 17th.

 

To promote myself, pretending everything is fine, while people are out fighting for the right to exist freely and without fear for their lives, is against everything I try to be as a person. 

Instead, I will be using my platform to continue to share and amplify Black voices, leaders, and creators during this time, as well as share important resources and information. 

Below you will find a list of resources, as well as places you can donate your money, time, and energy to.

Organizations:

Black Vision Collective: https://www.blackvisionsmn.org/

Black Lives Matter: https://blacklivesmatter.com/

The Bail Project: https://bailproject.org/

My Local Bail Funds:

Akron/Canton: https://www.paypal.com/pools/c/8pz5hovrmY

Columbus: https://www.paypal.me/columbusfreedomfund

Cincinnati: https://www.paypal.me/columbusfreedomfund
(Choose amount, then select "Cincinnati Freedom Fund")

Fundraisers:

George Floyd Memorial Fund: https://www.gofundme.com/f/georgefloyd

Homeless Black Trans Women: https://www.gofundme.com/f/homeless-black-trans-women-fund

ActBlue: https://secure.actblue.com/donate/ab_mn?refcode=tweet

Other Resources:

National Resource List: https://docs.google.com/document/d/1CjZMORRVuv-I-qo4B0YfmOTqIOa3GUS207t5iuLZmyA/mobilebasic

Ravelry Blog Resource Post: https://blog.ravelry.com/black-lives-matter/

Anti-Racism Resource List: https://docs.google.com/document/d/1BRlF2_zhNe86SGgHa6-VlBO-QgirITwCTugSfKie5Fs/preview?pru=AAABcntsCH4%2ATKdkXQMsXRxhbVw7KWaciA&fbclid=IwAR1Ge4BqXFnTiC_elpqEYCTfxf0zoizaKAEhHz6Kit-18SQNNTcQN7-ox5U

Ways to Help from Black Lives Matter: https://blacklivesmatters.carrd.co/

Fourteen Gat Dang Years

Guess what, y'all?

Robyn and I (Did I mention the name change yet? If not, HEY, THEY'RE GOING BY ROBYN NOW, OKAY???) have been together for 14 years now.

Rather than sit here and gush about them (that's soooo 3 years ago) how about I share our vows we wrote for the vow renewal? Then I'll end with some cute pics of us and y'all can leave nice comments about us below. Sound like a plan?

Mine:

My love, I promise to accept you as you are now and as who you shall become. I put my full trust in you and the commitments we’ve made to each other. I will continue to stand by your side as I have for all these years. I promise to be someone you can lean on, who will offer what comfort and love I can.
I give you not only a piece of my heart, but my joy and laughter as well. I promise to do everything in my power to make you laugh and smile as often as I can, so long as you’re willing to forgive the occasional accidental eye poke from a failed attempt to do so.
I also promise to always give you advantage on your charisma checks because, let's be honest, I'm the talkative extrovert to your reserved introvert.
I will always be the Batman to your Robin, the Luigi to your Mario, the Captain to your Number One.
I promise this all from now until whatever end takes us. I love you.

Theirs:

Eight years ago we promised to always love and support each other, no matter what hardships life threw at us. And we have. But in that time we've also helped each other grow and change so much for the better. And we've come so far. I've watched as you tried your hand at so many creative hobbies and discovered your passions. You learned how to heal from the past and found your unique voice in the world. And together we learned how to love better. So now, today, I promise to always stand by you as we continue to grow. I promise I'll still laugh with you at every corny joke and I'll still hold you when life feels too overwhelming. And I promise I'll always be with you as we continue this adventure together, because I can't wait to see where it takes us.

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Like my writing? You can help support me and future writing projects directly by donating through the links below!

Ko-fi link: ko-fi.com/blackgoatknitting

Paypal: https://www.paypal.me/blackgoatknitting

In Sheep's Clothing

Do you ever have those moments where you look at your work, those thousands of hours dedicated to your craft, and find yourself absolutely disgusted?

Why are you bothering?

Why do you try so hard?

You aren't shit.

I'm dealing with this hard right now.

I'm looking at my lace work and questioning why I knit.

I know we're not supposed to compare ourselves with other people. We should be proud of what we as individuals can accomplish. But I follow so many accounts on social media just absolutely filled with folks seemingly churning out colorwork sweaters, socks, and other garments at a frightening pace.

It seems every week these folks have new projects falling off the needles.

And I'm sitting back here, hoping to finish one project in less than 2 months.

How do you push yourself through this?

I'm trying hard to be realistic. Most of these people are half my size, which means half the work to do. So even if I could knit as fast as they do, I still couldn't do the work in the same amount of time.

I also can't financially afford to knit sweaters often. It's the same principle as the time cost. Bigger person = more yarn needed. A shawl is much less of a material cost (most of them at least).

Glancing through the worsted weight sweaters in my ravelry favorites, none of them use less than 1500 yards for someone with my bust size.

So let's do some fun math and assume 1 skein of indie dyed worsted yarn retails for $25 and has at least 200 yards. I need 8 skeins, which means that knitting that sweater is going to cost me $200 in materials straight off the bat.

How about something more affordable like Knit Picks' WotA? It retails for $3 a ball, but only has 110 yards per ball. I need 14 balls. That's $42. A wee bit better, true, but now my color selection is limited, plus I don't get to support the people I really want to.

So it's better for me to just support indie dyers and showcase the smaller quantity of yarn used in projects like my shawls, right?

But am I growing stagnant by focusing on just lacework and shawls specifically? Shouldn't I challenge myself and always push myself to do bigger and better things?

I like the look of color work, but I HATE doing it. Absolutely loathe it. It slows me down considerably, I get frustrated when my yarn gets tangled, and I'm always so anxious that my floats are too tight.

Lacework, though... lacework I can do in my sleep.

It's fierce joy and revelation watching the pattern emerge from just a series of seemingly random holes and decreases.

And I think I'm decently good at lacework.

But I'm playing it safe, aren't I? I've pushed myself into a box that I'm unwilling to come out of.

I feel like an imposter. Like a little kid who finds themselves at the table with much more capable adults. Getting little pats on the head and a, "Good job, sweetie! You'll make real projects when you grow up!"

And I don't know what to do about these feelings.

I know this is all on me (and my ridiculous brain) because my friends are nothing but supportive and lovely.

But I just can't shake it.

I don't have any solutions, no hopeful observations.

I guess I just sit quietly with it and keep knitting.

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Like my writing? You can help support me and future writing projects directly by donating through the links below!

Ko-fi link: ko-fi.com/blackgoatknitting

Paypal: https://www.paypal.me/blackgoatknitting

Threadbare

I'm tired, y'all.

Exhausted.

Worn out and worn thin.

And I owe all of you an apology.

When I started writing this blog, my only intention was to share my knitting.

Over the years, though, it became not only that, but an extension of my soul. Of all my thoughts and feelings, as well as my crafting accomplishments. A way for me to connect and share with all of you.

But these last 6 months or so (maybe longer) I haven't been honest with you. I've just been plastering on a smile and repeating the mantra that I've forced myself into for so long.

"It's fine... everything is fine."

It was easier.

It was so much easier to just listen to that little voice in the back of my head...

"Just share the good things here! No one actually cares about how bad things have deteriorated inside your head. They're only here to see your ridiculous projects and if you don't have anything good to share, what use are you?"

My goal became to just shove everything down in and survive. I didn't have the energy to focus on myself because I was also trying to help my spouse through their own deteriorating mental health.

Yeah, that's been great, let me tell you, having to somehow learn how to help each other get through the times that our bad days overlap.

We're probably both better off dealing with this than some other people might be because we've been navigating my mental illnesses for 14 years together, but it hasn't been easy. My instinct is to only focus on them, damn everything else.

I almost lost other relationships because of this. I missed the signs of someone close's depression worsening. And while I am already working on fixing these problems, I'm still angry with myself for letting it happen in the first place.

And with me shoving everything down as far as I could and focusing on anything but myself, I ended up having two very bad (for me) suicidal episodes at different points this year. Not to mention a return of the days of all day anxiety. Being terrified to go to bed. Depression days so bad I could hardly breathe.

I thought I'd finally improved enough to not have to deal with these anymore. Or at least not as much as I have in the past. Finding out that's not the case has been soul-crushing.

I just feel so utterly lost right now. I've barely been knitting. Everything I've cast on has been thrown to the side soon after with disgust because NOTHING feels good in my hands. Or I would make a mistake that previously probably wouldn't have bothered me, but now I just can't live with it.

I even tried crocheting again, hoping to bring back the spark of passion with wool. I couldn't even get past the first 4 rows without frogging it.

I had planned on having some new craft goal for 2020, but I don't think I can. I don't even know what my creative abilities are going to look like at the end of the next 12 months.

At this point, I'm just taking things day to day to see what I feel like doing. A lot of that time has been drowning myself in books. I'm on my 14th book since January 1st already. I can lose myself in my stories and try to live through another day.

And while it's been nice to do so, I miss *making*.  I miss the feelings of accomplishing things. I need a goal again. Something to work towards. But I don't know what. I hope Henry comes back to me soon and grants me his favor again.

Until then, I guess I just keep cautiously moving forward in the fog.

As for the blog, I still have a few things in reserve to talk about, including the shawl I finished at the end of last year. So I'll do my best to get those out soon.

But after? I only ask for your patience as I try to find myself again. But this time, I promise I'll be honest about how I'm feeling. I owe it to you.. and to myself.

So, onwards we go, friends.

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Like my writing? You can help support me and future writing projects directly by donating through the links below!

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The Point of Pointless

In the frantic haze leading up to the vow renewal, I was dealing with near-constant sheer panic and decided that the only thing to do was stress cast-on a new shawl.

And no, I'm not talking about the one from this post.

I mean I went stash diving, found a completely different pattern, and had at it.

I really wanted to have it done by the end of the year, just as a last hurrah.

So I did it.

Finished it yesterday, in fact.

And as I was blocking it out, I stood back and felt... confused.

And vaguely disappointed.

I didn't understand this shawl.

Not how it came together. That was easy.

But what was the point of this shawl?

I didn't have an event to wear it to.

I didn't have an outfit in mind for it.

It wasn't a pattern that I had been dying to try or yarn that I was itching to play with.

Sure, I had an arbitrary deadline, but it wasn't something I was super committed to.

It was, for me, a pointless exercise compared to my usual methods of creation.

I just needed something to make, so I made.

Sitting down to write this all out, it occurs to me that maybe pointlessness was the point.

For once, it was the act of creation, not the finished object, that I needed.

So what am I going to do with it now? Well, I happily let it go into the arms of my spouse, who fell in love with it as I was knitting it. They didn't know I was giving it to them and the smile they had when I handed it over made my heart melt.

And you know what? That was a pretty good way to end the year.
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Like my writing? You can help support me and future writing projects directly by donating through the links below!

Ko-fi link: ko-fi.com/blackgoatknitting

Paypal: https://www.paypal.me/blackgoatknitting

A Quiet Pause

This is it.

The last breath before the chaos.

I'm sitting here in the library, curled up on the loveseat, with Bee at my side.

Cozy in my Gryffindor sweater, I'm drinking tea sweetened with honey I helped harvest.

It's snowing.

It's so quiet.

Watching the snow swirl through the light from the street lamps is mesmerizing and so utterly calming.

I feel the tension that has been strung through me for weeks start to loosen and fade.

I can breathe again.

All will be well.

Sweet Rewards

You know what makes bee keeping worth it?

Besides, y'know, getting to hang out with a few hundred thousand cute friends?

This, my friends. This.

Yep, we finally got to actually take some honey out of the hives.

As you can see by my face here, I'm pretty dang excited.

And even though I got my first sting while working in the hives, I had so much dang fun doing this.

Processing the honey after was just as fun, too. Seriously. It doesn't look like it, but I was just ecstatic.

So, to release the honey from the frames, first you cut it out.

Kevin did that while I took the chunks of honey comb and started crushing them up into a filter on top of a bucket.

Which filled up quickly.

The honey all drains down to the bottom, all ready for bottling.

It was fascinating seeing the difference between older comb and newer.

This was older, tougher comb. It was harder to crush and left larger chunks in the filter. And as you can see it's darker than the new comb.

The newer comb broke as soon as you picked it up, spilling honey just everywhere.

The honey was also so warm! It's not something you really think about, right?

That warmth meant that it flowed easier, too, making our job easier. It also meant that the smell of honey was super pungent. It was incredible.

I snagged this bit of comb for myself to tide me over until I can secure some bottles of liquid gold.

And I don't care what anyone tells you.

I DEFINITELY haven't been taking the lid off just to give it a good huff every once in a while...

Nope. Not at all...

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