In winter Papa melts the old combs in the big pot in the yard. The wax floats on the water, yellow and clean, and the dirt stays at the bottom. He makes sheets for next year's frames, and candles. The candles burn slowly and smell of honey. The house smells of honey until March.
We have 30 candles. A neighbour wants 5.
We loaded twenty-four hives on the lorry of Uncle Esen and took them up the hill to the sainfoin. This is called "kochevka", moving with the bees, like moving with the herds. Papa works at night, because at night the bees are home and quiet. We closed the entrances at 10 p.m., drove with the lights off for the last kilometre, and opened them at dawn.
The lorry could only get as far as the old stone sheepfold, so the last part is on the shoulders. Papa is 55. He carried six boxes.