We crossed one of such blissful, chamber boarders. And a couple of hundred meters further along the road in the shade of a tree on the side of the road we met brothers beekeepers, who were waiting for an uncle from a Tajik tour.
We had to wait long time, there were no other cars and we became friends.
The brothers were from a family of hereditary beekeepers with Slavic roots and old-fashioned views on life, whose ancestors came to this land several hundred years ago.
The brothers were modest, laconic and shy. Spending time between cigarettes, I asked for their craft and found out that they have thousands of hives, that they drive bees from May to October in the mountains and valleys, from some flowering meadows to others, which are numerous in these beautiful and sparsely populated places. They make tons of honey per season. Honey is excellent, do they dont give it to wholesalers and sell it by themselves.
For the question whether bees are fed with sugar in winter, they were embarrassed, but confidently answered that local sugar is more expensive than honey and therefore there is no reason.
Conversation under the midday hot sun flowed slowly, waddled as their honey and was savored by the brothers' old Russian reprimand.