Down in the holler the leaves are beginning to turn. The breeze is crisp with fall. The sky is clean. Chestnuts escape their spiny husks and gleam like polished gems around Posey's old cabin.
One of the old timer's came up today and the neighbors brought him up to see the changes in the old homeplace. "All this was fields when I was growing up," he said, gazing around at the tulip poplars and scrubby cedars.
He pointed to the coffeepot nailed to the fence post. That fence run all around over here," he said. "They was cows all over that side of your property.
"They raised bees, too," he added. "Had a right fair amount of honey."
He stopped abruptly, waiting to see if I knew the secret behind the bee hives.
"Honey, eh?" I said. "Way I heard it, there was a fair amount of whiskey made with honey."
My new friend chuckled and relaxed. "Yep. One time Old Pose, he was buying him a right many Mason jars. He kept saying 'Takes a whole lot of jars to keep up with them bees!' But we all knew what they was for."
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