“A healthy colony has upwards of 60,000 members.” It seemed like the textbook must be right.
“Sixty thousand bees?!” Suddenly I remembered what it was that I had forgotten. I’m scared of bees. Hmm. Fortunately, I’ve decided to get over myself. That’s gotta go.
St. George had one opportunity. I’ve got thousands. (Note to my kind and patient instructors: I’m not viewing the hive as a box of dragons to be slain, only the psychological consternation of gallons of venom as the thing to be overcome. Perhaps I’m being a drama queen…)
“Hey man, I handled the bees over the weekend! NO GLOVES! No stings!” Shoutout to Dave. He’s a class buddy. We usually sit near each other, and inadvertently set up some alley-oops: he’ll ask a legitimate question about biology, and I can’t help putting a 9th grade spin on it. The talk about the “Drone Congregation Area” was especially humorous. “Hey, what’s a nice queen like YOU doing in a field like THIS?” Saluting Tim for keeping a straight face through this.
Then there’s the matter of the bear fence. An electric fence is up, but it won’t stop a hungry Smokey. You’ve gotta get in his head. So, a 3D printed bait tray hangs from the live wire. The idea is: as he leans in for the tasty morsel, his nose will encounter the high voltage on the line, giving him a memorable impression of a salad bar gone bad. Think bad cherry tomatoes at Ruby Tuesday’s buffet times six thousand volts.
(We’re setting up a game camera to make sure he gets zapped. You know, for science.)
“In this corner, the Long Mountain Boys with excessive technology!” (My money’s on the bear, but I’m trying.)
Once, in class, I thought of writing a story in the style of Any Rand, a spoof on Anthem.
One day, a drone bee, Unit 2347, starts to think. It all started when he was out flying. He was almost eaten by a Praying Mantis, but she told him something called God spared him, and they had a talk instead. The Mantis spent time with the flowers, but also in the grass, and in the leaves. She had freedom to choose, and worked for herself. She watched the hives from a distance. He told her proudly about how much honey they produced, but then she asked him a strange question. Where did all the bees go? He had been told they went to “Comrade’s Rest”, whatever that was. Once when he was a larvae he asked his nurse bee about it, but she wasn’t sure, and said he mustn’t ask such things. He hurried back to sing to the ladies as was his job, but his sound was doubtful from that afternoon on. Was his sole existence to keep the morale of the workers up, mate with an unknown queen, and then what? Or perhaps be pushed out into the cold when the Great Winter came? He was told a great hive awaited him, but he wasn’t so sure. And so a great many thoughts started to buzz in his tiny bee brain…and what a strange feeling, to think.
(Ann, I know this is bending biological fact, but the twist is for literary effect…and I’ve had coffee.)
My bee suit is on order, and the “bee bus” arrives Sunday. I’m stoked about this. To Ann, Tim, Dave, and the rest of the good folks there - thank you. I feel educated and ready. To the bees on their way, welcome. To my reflection in the mirror - let’s do this!