Blog

Understanding Localized Vs. Systemic Reactions: My Journey

There is a distinction between an allergic reaction to a bee sting and being allergic to bee venom. It sounds like a minor semantic difference.

It is not.

Back when honeybees were an integral part of our farm, many people would respond, “I’m allergic to bees.” What they meant was, that when stung, the area around the sting would swell, itch, and probably hurt. Depending on the location of the sting and how much swelling would result, they may have required medical treatment, for example, if an eye swelled shut.

Most people can treat a honeybee sting at home with ice and a topical anti-itch cream.

I found out the hard way what 3% of adults mean when they say they are allergic to bees.

First, let me say that over my lifetime, I’ve been stung many times by many insects. Wasps, yellow jackets, hornets, and honeybees. While working in honeybee hives, I would get stung once or twice a year.

Always with the same reaction—an apology to the honeybee who just lost her life trying to protect her colony, remove the stinger, ice the area, and take an anti-histamine for itching if necessary. Most of the time, I didn’t even need the ice or drugs.

Everything changed on July 21, 2023.

We needed a new queen for one of our colonies and found one immediately available three hours away. One benefit of retired life is the flexibility to take off on a moment’s notice to run such an errand. Along the way, we stopped for a nice big breakfast, then headed on to the bee farm.

Arriving at the farm, we had to walk past a couple of beehives to access the store. I wasn’t afraid. I just didn’t linger in the bee flight path.

What I didn’t know was one critical piece of information.

The owners had just completed a full inspection of these hives, which agitated the bees. Guard bees were on high alert for further intruders.

They interpreted our stroll past their door as an unacceptable act of aggression. Bees came after both of us and we walked in separate directions away from the hive trying to put enough distance between us and them, to diminish their perception of the threat.

The bee following me was relentless.

She kept buzzing my head and landing on my hair. My mistake was what I intended to be a gentle brushing of the bee away from my hair, Miss Honeybee thought was swatting at her. She dug in, rear-end first, and let go with a full dose of venom into my scalp. I saw her tumble to the ground.

Well, shoot.

Donna removed the stinger from my head and I went back to the shop to pay for the queen. That was the entire purpose of the trip, after all.

While waiting for the owner to swipe my credit card, I noticed my palms and the tops of my feet were itching. Odd, I remember thinking.

Within ten minutes, we were back on the road, heading for the interstate and the 3-hour drive home. I recall saying I didn’t feel very good. My stomach was upset, and I was beginning to sweat. Donna handed me a dissolving allergy tablet.

Looking back, there are so many things I wish I would have done differently.

I wish I would not have swatted the bee.

I wish I would have stopped before getting on the interstate.

I wish I would not have been three hours from home.

I wish I would have pushed the little red SOS button in the new vehicle.

Within a mile of entering the freeway, I had to pull over. We were on a slight curve about to enter a construction zone and the shoulder was littered with debris. Semi-trucks whipped by and I could not get out of the car.

None of that mattered.

Donna tried to find whatever she could to contain the onslaught. Violent vomiting threw breakfast all over me and the new car. A couple of our new, tidy, pretty-patterned, reusable, and packable grocery bags were sacrificed. I pity the person who picked up litter on that stretch of highway.

Feeling somewhat better, although now sporting red hives from head to toe, along with the remains of breakfast, we headed home.

Donna tried to find a change of shirt for me at a couple of gas stations (the first stop had an apparent drug deal happening behind us, so we hurried on to another station). All she could find was wet wipes and water. There were no clean shirts to be had at the gas stations. Her conclusion: “That’s the last time I shop for clothes at BP.”

We discussed finding a hospital and a truck stop where I could shower. Hospitals were an option on our route, but not the shower. I just wanted to be home.

Somewhere in the recesses of my mind, I knew I needed medical attention, but I wanted a shower more than anything, and it felt like the crisis had passed. I was filthy; the car was filthy, and the queen needed to get into her hive.

After three long hours, we arrived home and did all the things—shower, clean the car, and install the bee.

When I finally went to the walk-in clinic, I learned that any future stings would likely cause an even worse reaction. Donna had Googled anaphylaxis on the drive home—my symptoms already reached “severe” status. Worse than that was horrifying to contemplate.

I credit the bit of antihistamine from the dissolving allergy tablet for reaching my system enough to keep my airway open. Sitting in the clinic was when I truly appreciated the seriousness of what had happened.

Life changed for us that day.

We are out of the beekeeping business. We both have a keen awareness of the ability to summon anytime and anywhere through On Star if we only push that little red SOS button. The car is now loaded with wet wipes and an emesis bag for emergencies.

And I carry an EpiPen.

Baking Bread on the Modern Homestead

What does it mean to be a modern homesteader?

Homesteading conjures up visions of living off the land; growing vegetables, preserving food, cooking at home, harvesting wildlife for protein, and rarely communicating with the outside world.

First a disclaimer: We are not going to harvest wildlife and are not hermits. But, we do take considerable joy in gardening, cooking at home, and preserving food.

Let Julia tell you a story that exemplifies how we homestead the modern way.

Last fall I was determined to make sourdough bread. From scratch and by hand. I acquired a mason jar of starter from a lady who also provided encouraging words:

“It’s so easy and forgiving.”

“You really can’t go wrong,” she said.

All I can say is: the lady lies.

I cradled my jar of starter all the way home. I fed it according to the instructions. My goal was simple: maintain a healthy sourdough starter and provide all the fresh, homemade bread my household could consume.

The struggle began.

The first attempt was a sloppy wet mess that poured out across the baking stone into a loaf strongly resembling a stepping stone.

Ok. I knew what went wrong. Too much water. I could easily adjust that for the next attempt. The next loaf was sure to be perfect.

Not only was it not perfect, it was inedible.

I tried and struggled to make even a mediocre loaf. I made minor adjustments and major adjustments. I changed recipes. In time, I was convinced I had killed the starter, so I called on the wisdom of a friend. He makes lovely sourdough bread every week. We talked through each step from maintaining the starter to baking the loaf. He diagnosed my problem as not a dead starter but a starving one and prescribed a healthy feeding of whole wheat flour.

With renewed hope, I went back to the kitchen and tried again.

In the meantime, I refused to buy bread, convincing myself with each loaf attempt this would be the one that worked. For those of you who are unfamiliar with baking sourdough bread, this is a multi-day process. Feeding and refreshing the starter to baking a loaf will take anywhere from 24 hours to 4 days. Each time I thought everything was going well, until a few days later it wasn’t.

I eventually did succeed in killing my starter. Officially and without doubt this time. Mold and an unpleasant smell were all the post mortem needed.

But I was still hungry for bread, made from scratch and baked in my own kitchen. Bread is the staff of life and a dietary base in almost all cultures. There are quick breads, yeast breads and of course those pesky sourdough breads. You can buy it almost anywhere, but oh the luxury of baking it yourself.

Enter the bread machine.

The Breville Bread Machine. Photo by author.

Yes, that 1986 invention that became popular in the 1990’s and was all the rage for a decade or so. These machines promise fresh home made bread any day of the week at almost any pre-scheduled time.

Just add ingredients, push a button and presto! Home-made bread.

It really is that easy.

I am on my 3rd bread machine now.

My first one was a cheap model, just to see what all the fuss was about. Those early machines had some flaws, primarily an odd shaped loaf that was difficult to slice for a toaster. But they worked. I used it for awhile, then the novelty wore off and it was relegated to a shelf in the laundry room.

A few years later, I tried a Williams-Sonoma model. Definitely an upgrade with a dough function and multiple loaf size options. Again, I used it for awhile and then it lived on a shelf in the basement. I don’t really recall any specific complaints about the machine itself, other than some rust developing in the bottom. It still had an odd loaf shape.

After the sourdough debacle, I purchased a Breville. The 1.5 pound loaf cycle mimics the shape of a store bought loaf enough that a slice fits quite well in the toaster. I dusted off an old cookbook dedicated to bread machine recipes.

I am in home baked bread heaven.

Most of the time, I just layer the ingredients; liquids and salt first, then flour and yeast. Adjust for the type of bread (basic, whole grain, dough only, etc.), push the start button and my work is done. In 3 1/2 hours, fresh fragrant bread is my reward.

The hardest part of my new system is the promising aroma as bread bakes, finally removing a beautiful loaf from the machine and then the agony of waiting until it is cool enough to slice. Experience taught me slicing into a hot loaf is difficult and squishy.

Confession: I’m in love with my bread machine.

I can not recall the last time I bought a loaf of bread at the store. I know what goes into each loaf and exactly what day it was made. I have decided not to be embarrassed that I am using a bread machine to accomplish this task.

This is what it means to be a modern homesteader.

Do what you can to live a more simple life like our grandparents and great-grandparents used to do. Eat fresh, home baked bread. But if you prefer to use a modern appliance to accomplish that goal…do it.

No embarrassment, no shame, no excuses.

You Can Make Restaurant Quality Mellow Roasted Garlic at Home

My first experience with roasted garlic was at an Italian restaurant in Destin, FL. The restaurant’s name is lost to history, but I can tell you everything about that first smear of roasted garlic blended with grated parmesan and olive oil with just a twist of cracked black pepper and a pinch of salt. 

The waiter offered bread service along with a whole head of garlic. The look on my face must have prompted his quick explanation: the garlic mellows when roasted. He deftly squeezed the entire, warm head of garlic into the bowl, adding the cheese, olive oil, salt, and pepper. Next to the bowl rested slices of warm baguette. 

Before this, I was familiar with garlic in spaghetti sauce, garlic bread, and even sauteed mushrooms. I love the flavor, but to eat an entire head at once?

Summoning my courage, I smeared a dollop on my slice of bread. I was hooked. Mellow and rich, the flavors complemented each other perfectly. 

Since then, I have seen this presentation in other restaurants, which never fails to delight me. Of course, I wanted to do this at home. I tried to recreate it from observation of the restaurant technique. Slice the top off a whole head of garlic about a quarter of the way from the top. Drizzle with olive oil and bake wrapped tightly in a piece of heavy-duty aluminum foil or a cast iron garlic baker shaped like a bulb of garlic. 

To effect this technique, you need soft neck garlic. The hard neck varieties’ hard inner stalk prevents a clean slice through the bulb.  At Five Feline Farm, we plant hard-neck garlic in the fall for mid-summer harvest.

Our typical varieties are Music, German Extra Hardy, and Chesnok Red. All are organic seed, and although we are not certified organic, we follow organic practices, which means we do not use chemical fertilizers or pest control. 

Back to the garlic.

Hard neck garlic is best for long-term storage. We dry the garlic bulbs and then store them in a nylon hose; cheap knee highs work perfectly. However, these are getting a bit hard to find since they are no longer fashionable. Each knee-high will hold about a dozen heads of garlic. Drop one into the toe, tie a knot and drop in the next one. Do this until there is enough at the top to loop around a hook. This method allows air to circulate each bulb, keeping dampness out.

Estimating how many garlic bulbs a household will use in one year is hard. We usually save about 60 heads of garlic for the two of us. Some years, we still have several in storage when it is time to harvest. The old ones need to be used to make room for the new ones in storage. Time to roast, but that hard center stalk prevents the restaurant-style of roasting. Here’s our hack to roast and preserve garlic.

Last year’s heads and any small ones from this year that will not do well in long-term storage are separated into cloves. The innermost layer of papery covering is left on. Dump all these into a cast-iron skillet and add a good quantity of olive oil. In the 12” skillet pictured, I added about 1/2 cup olive oil. There is no need to be concerned about a precise quantity. Add enough to keep the cloves from burning and to have extra to blend in with the roasted garlic. Cover and roast at 375º for 30-45 minutes until the cloves are soft. 

Remove from the oven and cool until the cloves can be handled. The next step is best accomplished by wearing a pair of food-safe gloves like powder-free exam gloves. It will get messy. Squeeze each roasted garlic clove from the papery covering into a bowl.  Strain the remaining olive oil into the bowl with the garlic and mash together with a fork.

You can now season and use the roasted garlic as a spread, on potatoes, in tomato sauce, or anywhere you want to have a mellow garlic flavor. Store in the refrigerator for 1-2 weeks. You can also portion and freeze. It will not freeze solid because of the oil but will keep it for six months to a year. To use frozen roasted garlic, thaw in the refrigerator or microwave and refrigerate any leftovers. 

The last time we went to Destin, the Italian restaurant was gone, replaced by a chain eatery that was not nearly so good. I am grateful to have learned about roasted garlic and to continue the tradition in my kitchen.

Learning How Not To Name a Product and When To Go For It

One time an unconventional name really worked.

What is “Cat Burglar”?

The question has been posed to us more times than I can count. It usually goes something like this:

A customer to our small farm approaches the balm display and looks over the scents. They pick up one or two, check the scent label and try to arrive at a decision about what smells best to them. Then they pick up the one labeled “Cat Burglar”.

Yes, it is a bit of a different name. When we first started creating skin balms from the beeswax collected during the honey harvest, we tried to find unusual names. We created a line called “Phantom Balm” named for one of the cats in residence. The same logic applied to “Reine Balm”.

The questions rolled in with those names. We quickly learned that in business, cute creative names are one thing, but when the names are so obscure the customers do not know what they are purchasing, it is a problem.

As good entrepreneurs do, we stepped back and reassessed. Too many times we found ourselves answering about the contents of these little tins. As we repeated that we used the names of our cats, we began to realize the absurdity.

Time to rename the products simply. Straightforward so there is no confusion. “Phantom Balm” is not going to either treat your phantom or turn you invisible. It is a soothing balm for dry cracked skin.

So we rebranded all of the scented balms under our new “Gert‘s Garden Balm” line. The new name was not so confusing. It was easy for people to understand this is a brand name.

But one balm name stuck and we are always willing to tell the story of “Cat Burglar”.

Most people who use essential oil blends have heard the story behind the Thieves blend of oils.

The story goes when Bubonic Plague was rampant in the 15th century, a group of thieves went from house to house robbing from the dead and dying. Even after repeated exposure to the highly contagious plague, the thieves did not get sick.

At long last, the thieves were apprehended. After conviction, the thieves were offered leniency if they would reveal the secret to their plague resistance. They disclosed they used a blend of cinnamon, clove, eucalyptus, and TK oil as a defense.

We have incorporated those same essential oils into our balm. In keeping with our feline named business and with a nod to the 15th-century robbers, we call our version “Cat Burglar”.

Just to be clear, this name came about well before the current pandemic ravaging the world. The story of the thieves’ protection from Bubonic Plague with essential oils is folklore. We make no representation that our Cat Burglar balm provides any protection from any disease, germ, or phobia. What we do know is the balm is soothing to dry, cracked skin, smells delicious, and has a cool name.

Now you know the story, you can order your own tin of Cat Burglar with the button below.

 

Cat Burglar Balm

Cat Burglar Balm

$2.00 – $4.00

Buy now