Mr. Richardson, an tall, slightly bent, elderly neighbor, came to my door one morning, and knocked, setting off all the dogs and creating a chaos in the middle of William's piano lesson. He was asking for another load of composted horse manure. Usually, he comes for several loads in the spring for his wife's garden and flowers. I asked him to come back in the afternoon.
After loading his trailer, he asked, as he always does, how much he owed me. As always, I said that he owed nothing, I was happy to be able to share. But Mr. Richardson wanted to give in return, and asked if I wanted some eggs? Well, we can easily go through six eggs a day and though our hens try really hard, they can't keep up with us.
The next day, the doggy doorbell went off and there was Mr. Richardson with two dozen golden eggs and a jar of his golden honey.
I asked if he'd made that honey and he replied that no, his bees did.