I am not sure of the exact year that my father decided to torture me in this bee-ridden clover field, but I remember the day like it was just yesterday!
As a youngin', I didn't go to daycare...nope, I traveled the road with my dad as he drove from barn to barn shoeing horses, and trimming hooves.
From these experiences, I learned the gift-of gab-from my old man, and grew accustomed to roaming the roads.
With an artists soul, his eyes were always on the hunt for a found object to repurpose, the beauty of a landscape, and in this case...a photo-op!
I left out the pics that show my true feelings about the experience, but let's just say they were not pleasant. I remember being so confused.
Why must I stand in the epicenter of bee heaven?
So what do I do the very first time I pass a clover field with both of my beautiful babies in the backseat...camera on hand?????
Out of the car, and right into the field we went.
I will add in my own defense though that there were no bees this time around.