Longmire: Honey
Walt and I sat in the back seat. I was playing with his hair as Henry drove ever eastward towards the start of this crazy ass bike thing that his friend Mary Red Wolf had entered. I'd been surprised when the technophobe dumb-ass sitting next to me had A, managed to use a computer to look anything up without me or Ruby holding his hand, and B, had managed to actually print some stuff out. Ho—LEE—Shit!
A few hours ago we'd been in a place called the Nantahala Gorge, and I will admit that those mountains, not the big ass ones out where we lived, but the old fuckers here on the East coast had given me the willies.
We hadn't had a route plotted. Henry said he could get us there, and he seemed to be living up to his word. We had just passed a little town here in the mountains of North-fuckin'-Carolina called believe it or not, Batcave. No, seriously… Bat… Cave. I expected the Batmobile to come flying around the curvy road, but no such luck. We did see a road side store shaped like an old Pennsylvania Dutch barn at an intersection which just happened to be over a river. The bridge crossing over to us had a sign about not diving… What the hell did these numb nuts do? Get shit-faced on moonshine and think they were Olympic divers? But… I loved the atmosphere. It wasn't dry like Absaroka. Plant life actually covered every available space that wasn't covered in asphalt.
The yokels here killed me. Up the road aways, we'd actually passed a place where you could rent a cabin and fish… with the pond being the size of a hockey rink at best, the cabins being fucking shoe boxes, and the feel of a family just trying to make a buck. Walt and Henry had looked at each other, and that…. Seriously Henry, wake up! She's only around you for your… Gah… stupid man using stupid brain to think with.
Anyway, we'd passed through Batcave—no Batman sighted—and followed the curvy road toward a place called Chimney Rock. According to the signs it was a State Park. As we passed, I looked up towards the mountain. I could see why it was called a chimney. The rock formation stuck out of the side of the mountain like some chimney on a little house on the god-damned prairie. But… well the name that stuck in my mind was Cock Rock. No seriously, it looked like the mountain had popped a chubby. Circumcised. I laughed. Walt looked over at me and all I could do was point, then pantomime; my thumb and forefinger circled and my arm pumping up and down. Walt gave me a dirty look. I have a dirty mind, deal with it already!
We followed the winding highway downwards towards the start of "The Assault". Just as we approached a sharp left turn, we saw yet another of the many family run deals promising apples and peaches and honey. It was May, and I knew for damn sure there wasn't any fruit in this road side shithole. But I was intrigued by a sign that promised "Sourwood Honey". Seriously? What the hell?
As if he could read my thoughts, Henry pulled Lola off into the parking lot. We got out and wandered into the shed which had the side facing the parking lot totally open. There were several rows of jars, most filled with canned vegetables. We all wandered around aimlessly, but I found myself drawn to the jars of sourwood honey.
There was a guy there, average height, maybe a few pounds overweight, but nothing remarkable. He turned around at my approach and I had to admire his hazel eyes.
"Sourwood honey? What is this sh…. Stuff?" I asked.
He picked up a jar of the dark honey. "Where ya'll from?"
"I'm from Philadelphia" I answered, then jacked my thumb over my shoulder to the rest. "They're from Wyoming. How about you?"
"I'm from a little town outside of Spartanburg. What are you doing here so far from home?"
I pointed at Henry and said, "He has a friend doing some crazy ass thing called The Assault on Mount Mitchell."
He laughed. "Can you believe that people from all over the world come here for that?" He rubbed his face. "If you're going to the starting point, you'll wanna hit the Krispy Kreme just across the street. But wait for the 'hot doughnuts' sign to come on. You won't regret it."
I picked up a jar of the "sourwood" honey and looked at it. "What the fuck is this? Is it like the sour gummy version of honey?"
He laughed, great snorts of laughter. "No, it's… You have to taste it. It's sweet, but not bland like that clover or orange blossom shit you see on the store shelves. It's… different. It's sweet, but it also has…", he was searching for words. "You ever drink beer?"
"Sure. Why?"
"Sourwood is kinda like a beer where you can taste the hops. I don't mean it has a hoppy taste, but it DOES have that lingering 'feel' if you know what I mean?"
I nodded. I looked around and found the shop owner. I asked him if I could try a sample of the honey, and he smiled, the smile lighting up his craggy face. He fetched out a small spoon, a jar of honey… and I would have sold my soul right then and there. This wasn't the watered-down shit you find in a store. This was thick.. as in THICK. It was sweet, but also had a bit of bite on the backend, just like the hops the guy had mentioned. I let my mind wander. This would go well with the biscuits that Dorothy made at the Busy Bee Café. Add in some butter….
Walt ambled up beside me and draped his arm across my shoulders. I wanted to say something, but what? It didn't matter. He reached over to the shelf, plucked up two jars of honey and headed towards the cash register.