"Well, I reckon it's dark in there," he deadpans. This is so strange, but at the same time so utterly innocent, he kind of wants to just laugh and enjoy the novelty of it all. "They can't read or play cards or nothin'."
He watches the bees emerge in little clusters and finds himself thinking about cartoons, of all things. Those moments in silly musical animations where someone's had too much to drink or accidentally downed a bucket of soapy water, and they're hiccuping bubbles. It doesn't seem to bother the boy or the bees, in any case, and Cricket seems to be taking it in stride.
Cricket takes one of the biscuits for himself, but leaves the jelly for Hugh, dipping it in his coffee instead. They're very good, Southern-style biscuits, fat and flaky and the size of a tea saucer in and of themselves. They are not Aunt Winnie's biscuits; they're made by Forrest Bondurant, in point of fact, and they're well-beloved around the area.
He holds still as the bees gather around him. "I don't have one myself, but I know where there's a lot of blackberry bushes nearby, and all kinds of wildflowers, and the Bondurants have a little vegetable garden..."
His eyes are bright, considering the possibilities. "Mornin', ladies," he tells the bees politely. "Reckon you should try and keep a distance from the stills in case the fire sparks, and stay out of the mash. Otherwise, make yourselves comfortable."
"There's apple orchards all over," he says with a nod. "The bloom'll come up in a week or two, and then blackberries later on. I guess they need flowers to feed from, some? 'Cause if they help pollinate things like any other bee, that'd be a huge help to the people around here. Not that we don't have wild bees and some hives around already, but an extra pair of, uh, wings, won't hurt."
Come to that, Cricket could set up a small garden. Some tomatoes and cucumbers, maybe, if nothing else. The ground is rocky and there's a lot of shade around his place, but it'd be worth a try.
He blinks at the question and smiles, shaking his head a little. "I can't climb trees. I mean...I could, a little bit, if the branches start out low to the ground, but if I fell I'd be guaranteed to break my leg."
He taps his own knee, and the metal brace beneath his trouser-leg clinks softly. "I had rickets when I was little. Bones're crooked and a little frail. I get by, though."
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
timeasmymeasure
no subject
Date: 2019-05-04 05:25 pm (UTC)He watches the bees emerge in little clusters and finds himself thinking about cartoons, of all things. Those moments in silly musical animations where someone's had too much to drink or accidentally downed a bucket of soapy water, and they're hiccuping bubbles. It doesn't seem to bother the boy or the bees, in any case, and Cricket seems to be taking it in stride.
Cricket takes one of the biscuits for himself, but leaves the jelly for Hugh, dipping it in his coffee instead. They're very good, Southern-style biscuits, fat and flaky and the size of a tea saucer in and of themselves. They are not Aunt Winnie's biscuits; they're made by Forrest Bondurant, in point of fact, and they're well-beloved around the area.
He holds still as the bees gather around him. "I don't have one myself, but I know where there's a lot of blackberry bushes nearby, and all kinds of wildflowers, and the Bondurants have a little vegetable garden..."
His eyes are bright, considering the possibilities. "Mornin', ladies," he tells the bees politely. "Reckon you should try and keep a distance from the stills in case the fire sparks, and stay out of the mash. Otherwise, make yourselves comfortable."
"There's apple orchards all over," he says with a nod. "The bloom'll come up in a week or two, and then blackberries later on. I guess they need flowers to feed from, some? 'Cause if they help pollinate things like any other bee, that'd be a huge help to the people around here. Not that we don't have wild bees and some hives around already, but an extra pair of, uh, wings, won't hurt."
Come to that, Cricket could set up a small garden. Some tomatoes and cucumbers, maybe, if nothing else. The ground is rocky and there's a lot of shade around his place, but it'd be worth a try.
He blinks at the question and smiles, shaking his head a little. "I can't climb trees. I mean...I could, a little bit, if the branches start out low to the ground, but if I fell I'd be guaranteed to break my leg."
He taps his own knee, and the metal brace beneath his trouser-leg clinks softly. "I had rickets when I was little. Bones're crooked and a little frail. I get by, though."