Family Honey: Five Generations of Beekeeping

Thirty years old and a Captain in the Air Force dad was stationed on Long Island. He met mother at the base cafeteria; she was a waitress—a beautiful woman with—as dad was fond of saying, “Peaches and cream complexion.” They were married six months after they met. They had two daughters—my sister Barbara and I. Eventually the Air Force stationed him to the Mojave Desert in California, after that Dad went to Japan and we stayed home.

Mom was now a single mother. She was able to adjust to this by keeping busy—baking and making prize winning fudge.

Baking and singing to the Russian Army Band “Volga Boat Man” or doing the Cossack dance, arms across her chest, kicking one leg out at a time with a glass of Vodka enhancing the dance. She was Russian, telling bedtime stories about her dad, our grandfather, John, working on the Russian Czar’s property. He was initially a landscaper but promoted to caretaker of the Czar’s zoo. I loved her bedtime stories. Russian Christmas and Easters were always celebrated—Mom decorating the house in Russian motif. Mom died at 83 years old, leaving Dad to reminisce about their marriage.

One day I was sitting at the kitchen table talking with Dad, who was having tea with his honey. With his hands shaking with Parkinson’s, he looked up at me and said, “Judy.”

Because he was stone deaf, I lip synced back, “Yes?”

He again said, “Judy.”

I again lip synced “Yes, Dad?”

“You know, Judy,” and he hesitated for a long time while I patiently waited. “You know, Judy—your mother is not Russian.”

As though he was delivering a punch line in a comedy show, he added, “She’s Polish.”

I looked at this man, this father of keeping secrets, and finally spoke. “What about the Russian Zoo?”

He shook his head, “No,”

Now I am in shock and the one shaking. “What about the midgets in the Russian Circus?”

“Dwarves,” he says, and shakes his head.

“No.” Now I’m yelling—“The wallpaper?”

“Nope—she used books about Russia.”

I didn’t even try to lip-sync, I yell, “Dad, why on earth didn’t you discourage her from lying?

He hears me and looks at me, thinking, and says, “Now, Judy, why would I do a thing like that?”

Whatever nationality she was, Mom made a fabulous Russian/Polish honey cheesecake. Enjoy.