Slow Life with Real Food

June 30, 2007 was the first night I met Guillermo Payet, founder of LocalHarvest. Before meeting him at the beach house I was vacationing with my family at, I was told that he had just been named one of People magazine's Top 50 Hottest Bachelors and that his home 'was like a museum', to quote my sister's boyfriend. This guy, Guillermo, sounded interesting. Just for kicks, here's the picture from People magazine. Smokin'!

Well, in walks Guillermo, clad in a free paint-splattered green t-shirt from a friend's landscaping company, torn shorts from about 10 years ago, and no shoes. To round out the look, he had one big puffy eye, practically closed shut. Still smokin', you ask? Exceptionally, especially once I found out that swollen eye was from a bee sting (or two). He had been out catching a swarm of bees earlier that day. Why, now knowing that it was a bee sting, did I find myself even more attracted to him?

This is something I have put plenty of thought into, and I've got some ideas. Beekeeping is sexy. It's living dangerously, stealing the liquid gold of the thousands of little furry flying insects willing to protect it with their lives. The mesh masks, those armpit-high gloves, the smoking smoker used to stun those bees into a delirious daze... well, it does the same for me, too.

Evidently Guillermo was aware of this effect on easily-charmed women. He invited myself and my family over to his house the next day for some beekeeping and steaks (they go together, don't you think?). The house was 'like a museum' alright. Like a museum that Indiana Jones would decorate. After a little tour, I quite willingly, helped him tend those bees. While I donned the traditional beekeeping uniform, Guillermo put on his flip-flops and sunglasses. You know, for protection. I used my yogic breathing and slowest movements while brushing off bees from the honey-filled comb on the frames, silently thanking each and every bee for the good stuff they made and also giving gratitude for not stinging me. Guillermo's approach was a little different. He brushed bees off willy-nilly, shooting the smoker at them left and right, stepping on a few that were caught in between his bare foot and flip-flop. Ouch! He made the wise decision to go in the house and exchange those torn shorts and sole-baring shoes for some jeans and slippers.

After a few frames were brushed clean and delivered to safety through the kitchen window, I had already removed no less than three stingers from Guillermo's nose. He either decided that we had collected enough honey, or that he had enough of being stung. I don't remember which. I slowly removed my effective bee gear (I move like molasses, regardless if I am in immenent danger) while Guillermo visited the bathroom, no doubt to tend to those puffy places. A few minutes later he poked his head out sporting a big swollen nose, and asked, "Do I still look handsome?" Yes, dear, you do.