Happy Friday, crew!
I hope you’re sipping a cup of delicious coffee, and ready to hear a tale of fear and misfortune that will make you chuckle mightily. It’s about the bees.
THIS SUMMER
If this story were a movie trailer, it would go as follows:
A sunny day in a pastoral setting, contrasted by ominous music
Shaky off camera voice (mine): “Ever since they almost killed mother, the bees have been angry. We try real hard, but it just makes things worse.”
Announcer: “THE DOWNFALL OF MAN IS HUBRIS. TWO MEN WORK IN AN UNEASY TRUCE WITH THIRTY THOUSAND BEES. HOW LONG WILL IT TAKE TO MAKE A MISTAKE?”
Scene cuts, camera shakes, close up of bees on comb, heavy metal horror music, screaming, “STAY CALM, STAY CALM!”
THIS SUMMER - THE BOTTOM DROPS OUT.
Calm, pastoral scene. Bees calmly buzzing.
The Bottom Drops Out
Minus the cinematography, this isn’t far off. Poor mom. You see,
HOLY SMOKES. Real time announcement. I’m typing this calmly, inside, listening to Bach, and something flying just buzzed me, causing me to yell and leap up. Whew. Life imitates art.
Now, where was I? Oh yes. Mom got stung, had a terrible reaction, turned several strange colors, almost had to go to the hospital, and fortunately, is A-OK now. She’s understandably staying away from the bees, much to her regret, leaving the inspections to us cavemen (that would be Bob and myself.) What could possibly go wrong?
It Goes Wrong
The day was sunny and muggy, a sweaty June afternoon filled with the placid buzzing of the bees. The smoker chugged lazily, the white haze drifting through the yard. We cavemen were back, “Marshmallow people” in our suits, ready to inspect the hive. We had torn it apart a week before, took a jumble of photos, and still had no clue what we were looking at. Specifically, we needed to see if the queen was laying eggs, and if there were young bees developing.
The top “super” (box) came off - call it the Penthouse - and was set aside. It didn’t have many bees, but it had enough. This is important. (Box 3 in the photo.)
The second super (Box 2) came off, after we pried it apart. The propolis (“bee glue”), is strong. This is also important. The box was heavy with honey and brood. I set it on top of the Penthouse. Key point.
The men were outwardly calm, soldiers sent to do a job. The bees seemed restless. The mission continued.
They were not happy to see us in the main box (1 in the photo). Grumpy, uncooperative, crawling around in the way, boiling up, buzzing rising in pitch. I was getting jumpy. But we had to find the young bees! Would the hive last? What was the future?!
“There! Piggily Wigglies!” (Larvae) “I see ‘em!” Frame after frame we pulled. Photo after photo we snapped. The guard bees increased their patrols, whining through the air, pointedly hovering around my veiled face. I felt like Taiwan. “Smoke me again!” hoping the stuff would throw them off. It didn’t. The buzzing kept rising in intensity.
White Hot Rage
Finally, it was time to button up. They were crawling everywhere, risking being squished when we put the next box back on. Bob maneuvered and brushed and smoked them to shoo away. “OK NOW!”
(You’ll remember we had put the Penthouse (3) to the side, and the heavy box (2) on top of that.)
With a mighty heave, I yanked up on the waiting heavy box, full of bees, honey, and brood. As I turned to place the box on the main hive, I saw with horror that the Penthouse box had gotten stuck to the box I was moving, and there it was, just dangling below what I hoisted, held in place with bee glue, a cartoonish pause in midair.
Then the inevitable happened. The crash was followed by my otherworldly cry of terror, echoing off the mountain. “Stay calm, stay calm!” Bob yelled.
The box was upside down, frames and bees jostled (thankfully it was the least amount of bees to drop, but…)
Ohhh instructor Tim had mentioned a bee tornado. They were furious.
Hurried breaths. “Get it together!” OH man. Ignore the swirling bees. Frame back, frame in, one, two, three, four. Roof on. OMG.
I purposely avoid politics in these writings, so the following is a personality description, not a policy statement. Please don’t take it as condoning or condemning, merely as a literary device to illustrate the type of their anger. I think my friends all along the ideological spectrum will chuckle at the drawing upon the boundless inspiration our elected officials provide...If you want a museum of outrage, it’s also on the National Mall, for better or for worse, in many colors, in many ways. For our anger dynamic exhibit today, we turn to a rather fanciful example:
If you cloned Elizabeth Warren thirty thousand times, shrank her, and put all of them into a box, and happened to shout “MAKE BEEKEEPING GREAT AGAIN!” at the top of your lungs, such would be the attitude in the yard. Their reaction was not unwarranted on their part, and unintentional on ours.
The hive was throbbing with white hot indignation, a barely contained dry and righteous sort. We could hear them buzzing through the wooden walls.
We left.
Nobody got stung.
We learned a lot.
Here’s to hoping your weekend is less eventful.
See ya Monday!