Nothing Meadiocre About Us

The harvest from the apiary in the orchard had been decent that year. Pounds and pounds of honey waited in storage, well protected from pilfering by rodents, and even more beeswax waited to be made into candles and ointments and waterproofing salves. Right now what she needed was the honey, and she'd carried several pounds of it from the storage to the fireside to warm up while she had warmed water as well. A cauldron of water steamed there already, warm to the touch but not hot. A few big stoneware crocks waited as well, along with a handful of other ingredients ready to be tossed in and a wooden paddle for stirring. All had been used for mead so often that colonies of the wild yeasts that were so important for fermentation were already dormant in them, ready to be warmed and fed the honey-sugars. Corbie tested the temperature of the water again, and judged it just about warm enough that the honey would mix in easily. It wouldn't be much longer now.