This is from Joe's Aunt Margaret (Sister Annette): I’d like to say a few things that are in my heart right now where memories of my nephew Joe reside. I think of our Joe's "Big Brotherness" as the Great Oak whose branches cover us all. I remember taking care of Joe at a time when he was Clayton and Dorothea’s first and only child. Joe was such a curious little child, wondering at every bug, flower and small wild thing he came upon. Once when I was with Clayton and Dorothea on a trip in the Jeep, Joe was way in the back and let it be known that he was lonesome and could he have a soft somebody with him. I loved that when Joe was married and working he saved enough money to travel the world with his wife. He would then return to work again and keep repeating that pattern. I feel so gifted that he and Rhea travelled to my house for a visit not too long ago. He was an artist in every sense of the word. He played his compositions on our piano. I would like to dedicate this poem to Joe. SOURNESS By R. T. Smith When the keeper has died, whose hands have touched so much honey, the village will convene to elect a successor and to remember the sweetness of his voice, his dependable hymns, the smell of smoke and the hush just after. While the elders resist the old rhythms of grief, one will speak of the ancient belief - that the bee-father's demise, kept secret, could cause the death of the hives in the coming winter. Then the question will arise in a nervous murmur: "Who will tell the bees?" * * * Thank you for that beautiful poem Sister Annette. Joe really loved nature. Here is a link to an essay on the tradition of “telling the bees”: http://www.ucd.ie/pages/99/articles/chaomh.pdf - T. G.