One day a few years ago I was out driving with my then boyfriend, T. We were on some hillbilly back road just enjoying the day. When something caught my eye. It was a handmade sign that said Honey for Sale. There was no resisting it. I love things like that.
I do want to see the Hot Wheels museum that someone built in their basement. Yes, I would like to see the world’s largest ball of paint. And yes, I will stop and buy some fucking delicious boiled peanuts from a guy on the side of the road that looks like he would skin me alive and eat it with me watching. Thank you.
I am as shocked as you are that I am even still alive.
Also, I am a bit of a honey fanatic. And by that I mean I have more than 3 quarts of different kinds of honey and honey products and honey combs and honey paraphernalia. Luckily, here in Florida there are a lot of apiaries. And they all have my favorite honey, orange blossom. Yum!
I drove past this billboard more than 20 times before I noticed the rings.
I insisted that we drive down the long, twisting, dirt road so that I could score some golden manna from heaven. Despite not being actually out of honey. But I didn’t want to miss the opportunity of scoring a new honey connection. So we turned down the side road.
It was a long drive with several twists and turns. I was beginning to worry that the sign was just a trap to lure unsuspecting, honey-loving tourists to their demise. T was ready to turn back and give up. But I am beyond stubborn. I was going to succeed in my quest for honey or die trying (which was looking more and more likely).
Finally, we pulled up to a ramshackle house. There was a tiny shed out front with another hand painted sign. Honey for Sale.
But there was nobody around. No phone number to call. No bell to ring. And no honey in sight.
I decided to investigate. T is a northern city boy and was already scared of what type of Deliverance style country folk we were going to find out there in the boonies. But I have lived in some redneck-y parts of the state. These were my people. Sort of.
I hopped out and started calling out. “Hello? Is anyone here? We’re here to buy some honey.”
The only response was the buzzing of bees and the wind blowing through the trees (haha, I rhymed). I walked onto the deserted property. It was hard to tell if it was an abandoned property, or if the people were just not home. I should have turned back right then. But, I really wanted that damn honey.
I called out again. “Hello? Anyone?”
Suddenly, I heard a rustling in the bushes around the corner. And a noise. A weird loud noise that was unfamiliar to me.
I began to slowly back away, moving towards T’s truck. I wanted no part of whatever was in those bushes.
I walked backwards for about 5 steps when suddenly; about a dozen geese burst from the bushes honking and swarming towards me.
Okay, full disclosure time, I am kind of scared of geese. And swans, and ducks, and roosters. They just freak me out and they are super mean.
As soon as I saw them, I screamed and turned and ran. T heard me scream and started the truck up. I was hauling ass to get to it before the geese caught me.
He called through an open window, “What is it? What’s going on?”
But I didn’t want to pause to explain it to him. I shouted, “Put the truck in gear! Open the door!”
He flung the door open and I hurled myself in like Bo Duke sliding across the hood of their Charger.
And that’s when the geese came round the corner and T saw them. They were pissed and loudly honking. They were definitely coming after me.
T started cracking up. “You were running from geese? I’ve never seen you look so scared. Of geese.”
“Shut up and drive! They are getting too close!”
They came right up to my window and started trying to attack me. I was really freaked out by this point. “Go! Go! Go!”
We sped away like we were leaving the scene of a crime. I never got my honey And T never let me forget my fear of domesticated water fowl.