The Bumblebees
“Pass me that knife, will you?……
….
Oh no! I missed the pun. Should have said scalpel.”
Dr. W. chuckled.
***
I get the best calls, like the one a few days ago.
“Josh, I was moving around spare telescopes, and I heard something in the wall. I think there’s bees in the insulation.”
So read the diagnosis of Dr. W., a pal and fellow astronomer.
He sent the x-rays…err…photos.
“Looks like you’ve got a case of bumblebees. We’ll have to operate.”
(Okay, this is poetic license. I also missed that pun in real life.)
Honeybees are my purview, but hey, why not try an experimental surgery? The bumbles apparently hate blue. In a flex move, I showed up in jeans and a blue shirt. The best defense is to offend, or something like that.
The white of the bee suit helped tone things down.
The only needles involved here were the ones of the pine variety, and their fragrant smell drifted out of the bee smoker. “Hmm…don’t want to smoke up your whole house.”
A few puffs, and it was go time.
“Pass me that knife, will you?……
….
Oh no! I missed the pun. Should have said scalpel.”
Dr. W. chuckled.
We scored the insulation, hanging baggy against the concrete wall. The bees whined inside.
“Okay, on three, we’re gonna wipe this whole chunk right into the cardboard box. One…two…THREE.”
They say beekeeping is peaceful, and sometimes, it is. The droning of countless tiny wings in the lazy afternoon sunshine, the scent of wax and honey rising on a warm current of air…
OR one could have a bag of bumblebees in a buddy’s basement (finally got that alleration, Doc), and it could go…badly.
I love the chaos. The adrenaline. Reminds me of ‘Nam. (I keep saying that.)
But it didn’t go sideways. The insulation landed with a sweep into the box, we folded the flaps, and ran outside.
“What now?”
“Put ‘em over there.”
The bees are safely nestled in the piece in the back woods, buzzing in and out, their nest intact, and the few stragglers herded outside. Every single bee made it.
***
The abstractions in life/the world/what must be done boggle me generally, and today specifically.
There does, however, appear to be a glimmer of reason, a small patch of dry land on which to stand, and that’s the task directly in front of me.
Carl Jung said “Modern man can’t see God because he doesn’t look low enough.”
Havel talks about telling the Truth and doing what one can to live a good life.
The bare dirt in the back yard needs grass seed. Maybe the phone will ring again with more news of bees.
I’m off to attend to things.
And of course…dig this perfect theme song, played by the mighty Jennifer Batten.
Or a Chopin nocturne if you need to calm down after that.