Sweet Inspiration-The Honey Month

I am so excited to share this unexpected but sweet honey inspiration that came to me a couple of months ago when I quite by accident came across the most delectable book called The Honey Month by Amal El- Mohtar. I have been waiting to share it here for awhile now, because you see, I simply had to buy two copies, one for me, and one for my beekeeping sister Nao as a solstice gift. Now that she finally has it in her hands, I can share it here too!

This book is a delectable as it sounds. The author was given vials of honey from around the world and sets out to taste each one, writing poetically about her experience of the sight, smell and taste of each one, and then including a story after. The result is a tasty, luxurious journey well worth the cost of her book.

Beware though, you may find yourself craving honey, a cup of steamy tea, and a hunk of fresh french bread!

It was published by Papaveria Press,  and is beautifully illustrated by Oliver Hunter who also does a lot of illustrating for the stunningly inspirational Goblin Fruit, a quarterly online poetry journal, which is co-edited by Amal, and an inspiration in itself.

Here is a small “taste” of what you will find inside the pages….

Day 15~ Hungarian Forest Honey

Color: A cloudy orange-yellow, which, in the first light I held it to, made me think of extra virgin olive oil. In the current light, more of an apple cider.

Smell: Hay, brown sugar, molasses. I held this vial in hot water for about a minute because it was too crystallized to draw enough out on the wand; prior to heating I thought it smelled a bit resinous, but I can’t find a trace of that now.

Taste: Brown sugar- cookies! No aftertaste-elusive, it makes an appearance on request, then vanishes when you aren’t paying attention.  Also taste of dark raisins.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I lost a ring in the forest once.

It was a silver ring, plain as rain, and I loved it. It had been a Christmas gift from a  dear friend of our family, and I always wore it on the middle finger of my right hand. I was a small girl then, dazzled by the snow on the dark green leaves, dazzled by the pink on my sisters cheeks. It was rare for us to see it, living in the south as we did, y the sea. But winter in the mountains, where the cedars crowded the slopes like a curious audience, was something else altogether.

{The rest of the story is in the book}

Of which you can buy copies here:

Papaveria Press

Amazon