Retrieving a glass, I added ice cubes and filled it with sweet dark tea from the refrigerator. I handed it to her, then leaned against the counter, watching as she took a sip.
“It’s not bad.”
“As good as your pies?”
“No.”
I laughed, watching as she took another sip and surveyed the house. Despite myself, I was grateful for my mom’s training. Natalie, no doubt, now thought of me as tidy, in addition to rather charming. Or maybe not. I knew I was interested in her, but she was still a mystery to me.
“You’ve made some changes to the place,” she noted.
“Though I loved living in a time capsule, I felt the need to update the decor.”
“It seems more open, too.”
“My grandfather had a lot of stuff. I got rid of it.”
“My parents are like that. On the fireplace mantel back home, there must be fifty framed photographs. Try to dust one, and they topple like dominoes. I don’t understand it.”
“Maybe the older people get, the more important the past becomes? Because there’s less future ahead?”
“Maybe,” she said, without adding anything else.
Unable to read her, I pushed open the back door. “Ready?”
I followed her out onto the back porch, watching her settle in the same rocker as she had the first night I’d met her. Unlike me, she didn’t lean back; instead, she remained propped on the edge, as if ready to jump up and run away if she had to. After all our banter, I was surprised that she wasn’t more relaxed, but I was getting the feeling that Natalie was full of surprises.
I took a sip of my tea, watching as she gazed toward the creek, her profile as perfect as cut glass.
“I think I could stare at this forever.”
“Me too,” I said, looking only at her.
She smirked, but decided to let my remark pass.
“Do you ever swim out there?”
“I did when I was a kid. Right now, the water’s still too cold.”
“That might be a good thing. Apparently someone sighted some alligators a little ways upstream.”
“Seriously?”
“It’s pretty rare to find them this far north. We get reports of them once or twice a year, but I’ve never had any luck sighting any. They tend to be in places cars can’t reach.”
“If you’d ever like to go out on the water, I’ve got the boat right out there.”
“That might be fun,” she agreed before folding her hands in her lap, suddenly all business again. “What did you want to tell me about the bees?”
“Let’s start with this,” I said, setting my glass aside. “How much do you know about bees? And how much do you want to know?”
“I have about an hour, maybe a little more. So tell me whatever you think will be important.”
“Fair enough,” I said. “Bee colonies have an annual cycle. In the winter, a hive might have five or ten thousand bees. In the spring, once it warms up, the queen begins laying more eggs, and the population begins to grow. During the summer months, a hive might hold up to a hundred thousand bees, which is why an apiarist might add another chamber to the hive. Then, as autumn approaches, the queen begins to lay fewer eggs. The population starts to diminish again, because the colony somehow knows it hasn’t stored enough honey to feed all the bees. In the winter, the remaining bees eat the honey to survive. They also cluster together and vibrate to create heat, so the colony doesn’t freeze. When it begins to warm, the cycle starts all over again.”
She digested that, then held up a hand. “Hold on,” she said. “Before you go on, I want to know how you learned all this stuff. Did your grandfather teach you?”
“We tended the hives together whenever I was down here visiting. But I also heard him give the talk to lots of different people. When I was in high school, I even did a semester-long project on bees for my science class.”
“Just making sure you know what you’re talking about. Go on.”
Did I detect a bit of flirting in her tone? I reached for my tea again, trying not to lose track of my thoughts. Her beauty was distracting.
“Every hive also has a single queen. Assuming the queen doesn’t get sick, she lives from three to five years. Early on in her life cycle, the queen flies around and gets fertilized by as many male bees as she can before returning to the hive where she’ll lay eggs for the rest of her life. The eggs turn to larvae, and then pupae, and when they’re mature, the bees are ready to serve the hive. Unlike the queen, these worker bees live only six or seven weeks, and they’ll cycle through a variety of different jobs in their short lives. The vast majority are female. The males are called drones.”
“And all the drones do is mate with the queen and eat.”
“You remembered.”
“It was hard to forget,” she said. “What happens if the queen dies?”
“Bee colonies have a fail-safe,” I answered. “No matter what time of year, when a queen is weakening or not laying enough eggs, the nurse bees will start feeding several of the larvae a substance called royal jelly. This food changes the larvae into queens, and the strongest one will take over. If necessary, that new queen will then replace the older queen. At which point, she’ll fly away and mate with as many drones as she can before returning to the hive to spend the rest of her life laying eggs.”
“That isn’t much of a life for a queen.”
“Without her, the colony will die. That’s why she’s called the queen.”
“Still, you’d think she’d get to go shopping or attend a wedding every now and then.”
I smiled, recognizing in her humor something akin to my own. “Now, yesterday I mentioned a few of the jobs bees do during their life cycle—clean the hive or feed the larvae or whatever. But the majority of bees in any hive collect pollen and nectar. A lot of people might think that pollen and nectar are the same, but they’re not. Nectar is the sugary juice in the heart of the flowers. Pollen, on the other hand, are tiny grains that collect on the anthers. Want to guess which one leads to the making of honey?”
She pursed her lips. “Nectar?”
“Exactly,” I said. “A bee will fill its nectar sacs, fly back to the hive, and turn the nectar into honey. A bee also has glands that turn some of the sugar in the honey into beeswax. And little by little, honey is created and stored.”
“How is nectar turned into honey?”
“It’s kind of gross.”
“Just tell me.”
“When a bee gets back to the hive with its load of nectar, it passes the nectar mouth-to-mouth to a different bee, who then does the same to another bee, over and over, gradually lowering the moisture content. When it gets concentrated enough, it’s called honey.”
She made a face. For a second, I could picture her as a teenager. “That is kind of gross.”
“You asked.”
“What happens with bees who bring in pollen?”
“Pollen is mixed with nectar to make bee bread. That’s what they feed the larvae.”
“And the royal jelly?”
“I don’t know how that’s made,” I admitted. “I used to know, but I’ve forgotten.”
“At least you’re honest.”
“Always,” I said. “But that brings us to another important point. Because the bees need to eat the honey to survive the winter, an apiarist has to be careful not to take too much when they harvest.”
“How much is that?”
“My grandfather would only harvest about sixty percent of the honey in any given hive, some in June and the remainder in August. Some of the larger producers will take a higher percentage, but it’s generally not a good idea.”
“Is that what happened to the bees?”
“What do you mean?”
“I read some articles saying that bees were dying out. And that if they did, humanity wouldn’t survive.”
“The latter part is true. Without bees spreading pollen from one plant to another, many crops simply
can’t survive. As to the first part, the decline in the bee population probably has less to do with overharvesting than the overuse of chemicals to clear the hive. My grandfather never used chemicals because, really, you don’t need them. I’ll show you when we get out there, but I think that’s it for now.” I set my glass aside. “Unless there’s something else you’d like to know?”
“Yeah, about the guard bees. Why do they buzz around your face?”
“Because it works,” I said with a laugh. “People don’t like it, so they retreat. Keep in mind that in the wild, bears will ravage beehives. The only way a tiny bee can protect the hive from a giant bear is to sting it in the eyes, the nose, or the mouth.”
She hesitated. “Okay. But I still don’t like them.”
“That’s why we’ll be wearing suits. You ready?”
Natalie stood from her seat and led the way inside before stopping in the kitchen to deposit her glass. Meanwhile, I pulled two spoons from the kitchen drawer, wrapped them in a paper towel, and put them in my pocket. Retracing our steps to the front porch, I handed the smaller suit to her. “Slip this on over your clothes,” I said. I pulled off my shoes, then put on a suit; Natalie did the same, and I made sure everything was zipped properly. After we put our shoes back on, I handed her the mesh hood—it was connected to a hat with a round brim—and the gloves, then used the lighter to get the smoker going.
“What’s that?”
“It’s a smoker. It calms the bees.”
“How?”
“The bees interpret smoke as part of a forest fire and they’ll begin feeding on the honey in case they have to move the hive somewhere else.”
I collected the rest of the gear and motioned for her to follow. We set off in the direction of the hives, passing clutches of azalea bushes, into an area dense with dogwoods, flowering cherry trees, and magnolias. The air was thick with the sound of buzzing, and bees could be seen clustering on practically every bloom.
At the edge of the property, the vegetation grew denser. Directly ahead I caught sight of one of the hives; though my grandfather had built his own, they were similar to ones that could be purchased as kits or used by commercial farmers, consisting essentially of a stand supporting a stack of wooden chambers, along with lids. As always, I was amazed by the idea that it would be home to more than a hundred thousand bees.
“We should stop here and put on the rest of our gear.”
After donning our gloves, we approached the hive, bees bumping against the mesh of our hoods.
I added air to the smoker and puffed out some smoke near the hive before setting it on the ground.
“That’s it?”
“You don’t need much smoke,” I explained. “Bees have an acute sense of smell.” I pointed toward an area beneath the lip of the lid. “Do you see this? It’s how the bees get in and out of the hive.”
She took a cautious step closer. “How long do we have to wait for the smoke to work?”
“It’s working now,” I said. “They’ll be calm for fifteen or twenty minutes.”
“Does the smoke hurt them?”
“Not at all,” I said. “Let me show you the inside of the hive.”
Lifting off the top lid—or outer cover, in beekeeper-speak—I set it aside. Then, using the uncapping knife, I loosened the inner cover. Always a bit sticky, it was harder than usual to pry off, probably because it hadn’t been removed in months.
Once I freed the inner cover, I set it on the ground as well. “Come take a peek,” I said. “They’re friendly now.”
With obvious trepidation, she peered over my shoulder. I pointed to the top chamber. “This part of the hive is called the upper deep. It’s the food chamber. There are ten hanging frames, and this is where most of the honey is stored.”
Pointing to the chamber beneath it, I went on. “The one right below is called the lower deep, and it’s the brood chamber.”
“Wow,” she murmured. There were hundreds of slow-moving bees crawling on top of and between the frames. Natalie seemed genuinely rapt.
“I’m glad you were interested in coming here,” I said. “Otherwise I probably would have forgotten to add the shallow super and the queen excluder. I didn’t remember until I saw them in the honey shed.”
“What are they for?”
“The shallow super adds additional honey storage to the hive for the larger summer bee population. It’s like the upper deep, only smaller. The queen excluder ensures that the queen won’t up and fly away.”
“You don’t need them year-round?”
I shook my head. “You’ll want a smaller hive in the winter so it’s easier to keep warm.”
On the upper deep, bees continued to crawl around with unflagging energy and purpose. I pointed to a large wasplike one. “See this one?” I asked. “That’s a drone.”
She peered closer, then eventually pointed to another. “That one, too?”
I nodded. “As I told you, they’re greatly outnumbered by the females, like Hugh Hefner in the Playboy Mansion.”
“Nice metaphor,” she drawled.
I grinned. “Let me show you something.”
I removed my gloves, then reached down and gently picked up one of the worker bees by her wings. She was still docile from the smoke. Using the thumbnail on my other hand, I provoked her until she tried to sting me through the nail.
“What are you doing?” Natalie whispered. “Are you trying to make her angry?”
“Bees don’t get angry.” I manipulated the bee again, and again it tried to sting me three, four, and then five times. “Watch this,” I went on. I put the bee on the back of my hand and let go of the wings. Instead of continuing to try to sting, the bee took a few steps and then flew slowly back toward the upper deep.
“The bee doesn’t care about me, or what I just did to her,” I said. “She was just trying to protect herself. Now that the threat is gone, she doesn’t hold a grudge.”
Through the mesh, I read fascination and newfound respect.
“Interesting,” she said. “Way more complex than I imagined.”
“Bees are extraordinary creatures,” I said, hearing the echo of my grandfather’s voice. “Do you want to see the honey? And the larvae?”
“I’d love to,” she said. Using the uncapping knife, I loosened one of the frames at the top edge, then loosened the other side until I could slowly pull it free. As I did, I watched Natalie’s eyes widen; the frame was covered with hundreds of bees on both sides. After checking it over and determining that the cells didn’t have the variety I wanted, I slid it back into the hive. “There should be a better one,” I remarked. “It’s still early in the season.”
It took three frames before I found the one I wanted, and I removed it fully from the hive. Like the others, it was swarmed with bees, and I held it in front of her. “Do you remember when I told you that big producers use chemicals to clear the hives? So they can harvest the honey?”
“I remember.”
“This is why you don’t need chemicals.” I took a small step back and with a quick motion, jerked the frame up and down. Nearly all the bees flew away and I held up the virtually empty frame in front of her. “That’s all you have to do to clear the bees from the frame so you can get to the honey,” I said. “Just a single, quick shake.”
“Then why do the big producers use chemicals?”
“I have no idea,” I said. “I haven’t been able to figure that out yet.”
Angling the frame for a better view, I pointed to various cells as I spoke. “These cells up here in the corner, covered in the beeswax, are filled with honey. These lighter ones down here contain larvae and eggs. And the empty ones will all be filled with honey by the end of the summer.”
More comfortable with the hive now, Natalie moved even closer. There were still a few bees on the frame, and she slowly reached a finger of her gloved hand toward one of them, marveling as it ignored her completely. Another slowly crawled over her gloved finger then
onto the frame again. “They’re not mad that you shook off all their friends?”
“Not at all.”
“What about killer bees?”
“They’re different,” I said. “As a colony, they’re a lot more aggressive in protecting the hive. These bees might send out ten or fifteen guard bees when they feel the hive is threatened, but killer bees will send out hundreds of guard bees. There are some historical and evolutionary theories as to the reason why, but unless you’re really interested, we can save that for another time. Do you want to taste some of the honey?”
“Now?”
“Why not? We’re here.”
“Is it…ready?”
“It’s perfect,” I assured her. Reaching into my pocket, I pulled out the spoons and unwrapped them. I held one out to her. “Would you mind holding this for a second?”
She took the spoon while I used the other to crush my way through some of the beeswax-coated cells. Raw, pure honey spilled onto the spoon. “Trade you,” I said.
Natalie took the spoon with honey, while I did the same to mine. “Hold this one for a second, too, okay?”
She nodded. Her eyes flickered from me to the honey, golden in the sunlight. I reassembled the hive, picked up the smoker and uncapping knife, then took one of the spoons from her. We walked away from the hives, in the direction of the shed. When we were a safe distance away, I motioned to her that it was fine to take off her hood and gloves.
When I could see her face without the mesh, it was glowing with excitement and interest, her skin dewy with a light sheen of perspiration. I held up the spoon, as though making a toast. “Ready?”
I tapped my spoon against hers, then ate the honey, finding it was sweet enough to make my teeth hurt. After she tasted hers, she closed her eyes and took a long breath. “It tastes…”
“Flowery?”
“And delicious. But yes, there’s a very strong floral flavor.”
“Honey will taste different depending on where the hive is located, because the nectar the bees collect will be different. That’s why some honey is sweeter than others, some have a slightly fruitier flavor, others more flowery. It’s kind of like wine.”
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