I love old books. I've always been particularly fond of books published in the early twentieth century with beautiful pictures printed directly onto the cloth cover of the book. Among my favorites are early editions of the Anne of Green Gables series, James Whitcomb Riley books of poetry and books by Harold Bell Wright. When my grandmother passed away in 2001, I asked if I could keep some of the Gene Stratton-Porter books of the same time period that had belonged to my grandfather. My dad, an experienced used book dealer, cleaned up quite a few volumes for my sister and me. I have treasured those books and they have sat prominently on my shelves through the many homes I have lived in since that time, but they've served mostly a decorative and reminiscent purpose.
This changed a few months ago when I heard someone on a podcast strongly recommend Gene Stratton-Porter books and particularly The Keeper of the Bees. I immediately went to my bookshelf and located The Keeper of the Bees and began reading. I became entranced by this story of an injured World War I veteran who discovers the restorative power of nature and the kindness of strangers who soon become his family. The story's protagonist reclaims his faith in God as he studies the complexity of how bees maintain their hives. Only the presence of God as an intelligent creator can explain such things in nature. I simply fell in love with this book and grew particularly fond of the character of the child Little Scout, whose pure love of nature and imagination reminded me of my own children.
Perhaps reading The Keeper of the Bees inspired me to take the girls strawberry picking on Friday afternoon. Meg and Clare had early dismissal from school and we always try to have some adventure for early dismissal days. We have a few strawberries growing in our own garden and the girls have had so much fun picking those very few strawberries. I realized that, because we did not go strawberry picking last year (and possibly the year before that), Anne had no memory of picking strawberries in the big field at the orchard. So we drove to Butler's Orchard and picked some of the sweetest, juiciest strawberries we've ever had. The girls learned that while strawberries in the field may be smaller than what they see in the grocery store, they make up for it in taste.
This changed a few months ago when I heard someone on a podcast strongly recommend Gene Stratton-Porter books and particularly The Keeper of the Bees. I immediately went to my bookshelf and located The Keeper of the Bees and began reading. I became entranced by this story of an injured World War I veteran who discovers the restorative power of nature and the kindness of strangers who soon become his family. The story's protagonist reclaims his faith in God as he studies the complexity of how bees maintain their hives. Only the presence of God as an intelligent creator can explain such things in nature. I simply fell in love with this book and grew particularly fond of the character of the child Little Scout, whose pure love of nature and imagination reminded me of my own children.
Perhaps reading The Keeper of the Bees inspired me to take the girls strawberry picking on Friday afternoon. Meg and Clare had early dismissal from school and we always try to have some adventure for early dismissal days. We have a few strawberries growing in our own garden and the girls have had so much fun picking those very few strawberries. I realized that, because we did not go strawberry picking last year (and possibly the year before that), Anne had no memory of picking strawberries in the big field at the orchard. So we drove to Butler's Orchard and picked some of the sweetest, juiciest strawberries we've ever had. The girls learned that while strawberries in the field may be smaller than what they see in the grocery store, they make up for it in taste.
Tonight we were surprised by yet another aspect of nature. The girls were engrossed in one of their after dinner cul de sac kickball games with the other girls in the neighborhood. As it became darker, we began spotting fireflies--the first ones we've spotted this year. One by one, the girls (ranging in age from 4 to 12) deserted the game and began catching fireflies. They squealed and laughed as they caught the fireflies in their hands and then watched them fly away. Anne asked, "Will they hurt me if they light up in my hand?" No, my dear, because God is so amazing, he makes insects that produce a light on their backs, but that produce not even the slightest shock to us as we hold them.
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