She led me around from building to building, stopping at every garden bed along the way, telling me, likeJenhad, what happened in each place.Itwas efficient and sparse on detail, but every once in a while, she’d get going on something– how the greenhouse was warm enough to sprout tomatoes inJune, or the way some bees would cluster together in a “beard” outside the hive to regulate the temperature inside– and a different version of her would peek out.
I snapped candid photos and recorded artfully framed videos of everything she showed me, determined not to lose any time to this wholly unnecessary diversion.Theplan was to document as much as possible for the social media pages– process footage, staged product shots, and as much natural-looking interaction asIcould manage.Teddymostly ignored my phone, except for whenIasked her to re-explain her philosophy on mite treatment and prevention soIcould record her.Sherolled her eyes and told me she was doing the tour for me, not for the internet, andImade a note on my phone to try to replicate it later, maybe withJen.
The rain was still held at bay by the wind funnelling over the ridge, so we stopped at the edge of the veg garden behind the house, where a low stone wall separated neat rows of raised beds from the rest of the farm.Teddyleaned over it next to me, her hair caught by the wind as she looked over the plot.Withouteven thinking,Ipulled my phone up and framed her in the shot, the darkened sky the perfect backdrop to her wild, wind-whipped look.Itook the picture and then switched to video– it wasn’t the most relevant for the farm socials, butIcouldn’t not capture it.Itwas clear that she was exactly where she was supposed to be.Inher natural habitat, some would say.
She caught me and, for a split second, almost smiled. “Youget paid by the gigabyte, or what?”
“Content is king,”Ireplied, my cheeks pinking slightly at having been caught admiring her, if only for content’s sake. “Orqueen.Or… monarch?”
She rolled her eyes, then pivoted towards a small wooden shed at the corner of the garden.Ifollowed behind her as she stepped inside and pulled a cord overhead, filling the space with dim light.
Inside, the shed was dingy and crowded.Along wooden workbench ran the length of one wall, crammed with tools, labelled jars, and two braids of garlic hanging from rusted nails.Itook a video sweep of the room, then tried to stage a fewpropagationjars in a neat, photogenic triangle, trying to level up the vibe from “mad scientist” to something a bit more intentional.ButbeforeIcould get the shot,Teddy’shand came down hard on the bench, making me jump.
“Don’t touch those.They’rein an order for a reason.”
I reeled back, the embarrassment instant and total. “Sorry.Ijust wanted a good angle?—”
“Maybe let it look like it actually is instead of trying to make it something it’s not,” she said, not looking at me. “Peoplethink farming is all cute jars and wildflowers, then get pissed when they step in sheep shit.Ifyou think this is a fun, aesthetic summer job, think again.”
I wanted to argue, or to explain, but the words got stuck in my throat.Instead,Iwatched as she tidied the jars back to their original spots, her grip and her movements softening as she got things back in order.
When she turned around, her eyes were softer, if not exactly apologetic. “Look, just … watch for a while.Letit sink in.Geta feel for what this place really is, not what you think it should present as to the online world.”
I nodded.Thesilence stretched between us, andIresisted the urge to fill it– to explain my strategy.Basedon what she’d said onMonday, there was a lot more to her hostility than a knowledge gap.
After a minute,Iasked whatIhoped would change her mood: “CanIsee inside the hives?”
She raised an eyebrow. “Haven’tyou seen them?Ithought you’d had the tour?”
I lifted my phone shyly, and she nodded in understanding.
“You ever been stung?”
I shook my head.
“Then not until you’ve learned to keep your hands to yourself.”
“Fine,”Isaid. “ButIdo need some shots for our socials eventually.Peoplelove a beekeeper, especially one who’s not quite beekeeping age.”Ididn’t remind her thatI’dhandled the bees before.
She led me back outside, around the house, and across the car park.Therain had left the grass in the meadow slick and blindingly green.Thewind whipped my own hair into my eyes, butIwas too busy trying to keep up withTeddyto tame it into place properly.
The warehouse, where we’d had the course, was nothing like the house or the shed.Itwas new, clean, and industrial, with whitewashed walls and a polished floor that looked like you could eat off it if you were so inclined.Therewere nearly a dozen huge fermentation tanks, stackedIBCtotes filled to varying levels with honey, and rows of massive bottles lined up along one wall, each labelled in neat, tiny handwriting.I’dseen it all before, of course, but it was still so beautiful to me.
“Welcome to the meadery,” saidTeddy, her voice echoing off the high ceiling. “And, yes, before you say it,Iknow you’ve been here before.”
“It’s beautiful,”Isaid, not giving her the satisfaction.
She grunted. “It’sa nightmare to clean.”
She started to run me through the basics– how the honey was harvested, the fermentation tanks, the filtering, the bottling– butIdid then remind her thatI’dbeen on the course and asked if she could show me how to use the hydrometer instead.Itwas on my shot list; based on my research, people knew pretty intuitively that it was used in beverage production, soIfigured it should stop the scroll for our target audience.Shelooked somewhat surprised asIexplained this to her, but she nodded anyway.
She extracted a sample from one of the fermenting batches and used the hydrometer to measure the specific gravity.Ifilmed the process, glad that she was too focused to care about the camera.
She held up the result, andItook a still. “That’sa lot of sugar,”Isaid, pointing at the measurement.
“Yeah, we don’t mess around.”Sheset the tool down and folded her arms. “Youknow what that means?”
“It means it’ll be sweeter rather than dry?”RememberingJen’slecture,Iadded: “Andit’ll ferment more slowly, unless it gets diluted.”
