Lughnasa Harvest Moon
Those of you who paint or sew or fix things or build sheds, who repair the lock or restore 
the engine to its former glory, you may not understand the pride I feel in this candle. It’s a simple thing and making it was a simple process though not without its attendant dilemmas.
Here’s the thing: I made this candle. Well, ok, I had help from the bees of Artemis Honey and an assist on the wick thing from Kate, but otherwise I made this candle. It represents a satisfying process that began when a friend of Kate’s helped me get started in beekeeping 5 years ago. Since then, I’ve saved wax against the day I could make candles.
Making things with my own hands daunts me, I feel more comfortable with words or ideas, plants or organizations. That meant I kept putting off the candle making. How do you render wax? This year I found out. What’s involved in making a candle? Likewise this year I found out.
When this candle slid out of the mold, formed and perfect, looking exactly like, well, a candle, I jumped up and down. It was beautiful.
I like projects where my involvement takes place over a long arc. Organizing a new political entity or committee or economic development group. Planting perennials having first amended the soil, then tending them as they grow. Writing a novel in which every word started with me. It’s that long term, personal engagement that makes me feel good.
The candle represents learning how to keep bees, caring for them from year to year, collecting excess wax as we extracted honey or as I did hive inspections. I saved the wax and kept it until I could learn the other steps necessary. The result is a candle made from a material for which I know the source and in which I had a collaborative hand. That makes this candle and the others made this year, too, a new experience for me. And a good one.
