Alli Johnson / Woodford County
He tells me it was once used as medicine. Which is odd, considering medicine is supposed to taste like gritty grape flavoring or caustic orange syrup. I wonder what it was like to take medicine that tasted of rolling hills, delicate white flowers, and the fondest memories of my childhood.
I roll the tiny jelly jar gently in my hand, remembering when it was heavier and full of liquid gold. My father, like his father and grandfather before him, harvests Narbonne honey. He is one of thirty people left in the world that can do it. The honeysuckle that once grew wild and free across the French countryside is dying out. Soon there will be none left. No earthy sweetness to soften a robust cup of tea when you have a cold. No velvety topping to smother upon a grainy piece of toast on a rainy Sunday morning.
I feel a pang of sadness as I realize my children won’t know what my childhood tasted like.