A missive from the summer solstice when my babies were still babies…

Little Pasture on the Prairie In the garden, giant bumble bees circle the purple sage flowers. They are looking for a sweet sip. My son starts to flap his hands and shoo them away, but I stop him. “No, no!” I say, “Don’t scare them or they will sting you!” He looks at me with a knit brow. What does sting mean? He’s never heard the word before. I try again: “See how they put their little…