The honey man and the queen bee

Dale is a prominent South Dakota bee farmer and where better could I hang my hat while here in the Midwest than in the land of milk and honey,

The french toast with home made bread and the ruhbard pie -nothing could be finer-five star all the way.

Burl Ives, the troubador of the 30's made this song famous about the hobo's search for the land of milk and honey!

On a summer day in the month of May a burly bum came hikingDown a shady lane through the sugar cane, he was looking for his liking.As he roamed along he sang a song of the land of milk and honeyWhere a bum can stay for many a day, and he won't need any moneyOh the buzzin' of the bees in the cigarette trees near the soda water fountain,At the lemonade springs where the bluebird sings on the Big Rock Candy MountainsThere's a lake of gin we can both jump in, and the handouts grow on bushesIn the new-mown hay we can sleep all day, and the bars all have free lunches Where the mail train stops and there ain't no cops, and the folks are tender-hearted Where you never change your socks and you never throw rocks, And your hair is never parted Oh the buzzin' of the bees in the cigarette trees near the soda water fountain,At the lemonade springs where the bluebird sings on the Big Rock Candy MountainsOh, a farmer and his son, they were on the run, to the hay field they were boundingSaid the bum to the son, "Why don't you come to the big rock candy mountains?"So the very next day they hiked away, the mileposts they were countingBut they never arrived at the lemonade tide, on the Big Rock Candy Mountains Oh the buzzin' of the bees in the cigarette trees near the soda water fountain,At the lemonade springs where the bluebird sings on the Big Rock Candy MountainsOne evening as the sun went down and the jungle fires were burning,Down the track came a hobo hiking, and he said "Boys, I'm not turning.""I'm heading for a land that's far away beside the crystal fountains;""So come with me, we'll go and see the Big Rock Candy Mountains."In the Big Rock Candy Mountains, there's a land that's fair and bright,The handouts grow on bushes and you sleep out every nightWhere the boxcars all are empty and the sun shines every dayOn the birds and the bees and the cigarete trees,The lemonade springs where the bluebird singsIn the Big Rock Candy Mountains In the Big Rock Candy Mountains, all the cops have wooden legsAnd the bulldogs all have rubber teeth and the hens lay soft-boiled eggsThe farmer's trees are full of fruit and the barns are full of hayOh I'm bound to go where there ain't no snowWhere the rain don't fall, the wind don't blowIn the Big Rock Candy MountainsIn the Big Rock Candy Mountains, you never change your socks And little streams of alcohol come a-trickling down the rocksThe brakemen have to tip their hats and the railroad bulls are blindThere's a lake of stew and of whiskey tooAnd you can paddle all around 'em in a big canoeIn the Big Rock Candy MountainsIn the Big Rock Candy Mountains the jails are made of tin,And you can walk right out again as soon as you are inThere ain't no short-handled shovels, no axes, saws or picks,I'm a-goin' to stay where you sleep all dayWhere they hung the jerk that invented workIn the Big Rock Candy MountainsI'll see you all this comin' fall in the Big Rock Candy Mountains!

Not every hobo of the 30's was a hobo of choice.

Many young men left their homes because they saw that there wasn't enough food on the table for the whole family