“No TV, No phone. If you don’t like dogs, if you can’t work all night, don’t apply.”
— Alamo, Nevada
He’d look the other way if you get picked up by the deputy for getting rowdy in town but if you don’t get every pallet picked up and stacked there’ll be heck to pay!
The person that answers that ad ought to know better than to set down and start askin’ bout paid holidays, days off, cost of living escalators and a five-year contract. However, if I don’t miss my guess, he’ll get a day’s pay for a day’s work, good grub, a warm bunk and that kind of “Family feelin’” that comes with beekeepin’ people.
There’s plenty of good hands that could answer that ad and fit right in. If he gits the job you can bet yer silver snuff can lid he’s a keeper. A reporter asked me awhile back if I was a beekeeper. I said no. That name is reserved for them that puts food on the table with bees. It didn’t bother me to be mistaken for a keeper though, matter of fact I’m proud of it. But that honor belongs to that particular feller who gits up every day, lights his smoker, gits his veil and goes to work.
Them that writes “BEEKEEPER” in the blank space after ‘occupation’ on the IRS form; they’re what I’m talkin’ bout. Real beekeepers; the backbone of the bee business.
Adapted with permission from a Baxter Black Column. www.BaxterBlack.com