There are days on the homestead where you question every life decision you’ve ever made.
Today was one of those days.
After what feels like weeks of rain, cold weather, and Mother Nature laughing at my plans, I finally got my chance to move the bees into their permanent hive.
Picture this…
Me, looking like the Stay Puft Marshmallow Man’s country cousin, waddling across the yard in my giant white bee suit.
No smoker.
No smoke.
Why?
Because my burlap still hasn’t arrived.
Now, my friend Randy has been incredibly generous with his time and knowledge. Last year he came down the mountain bright and early to help me get started with these girls, and I’ve leaned on him pretty heavily as I’ve learned the ropes. Today I figured I’d give it my best shot on my own instead of calling him yet again.
How hard could it be?
Famous last words.
I opened the package and immediately spotted the queen walking across one of the frames.
Well, praise the Lord.
I carefully moved her over first, then transferred the remaining four frames, slipped the queen excluder in place, set the honey super on top, put the lid on…
…and that’s when the ladies held an emergency meeting to discuss my performance.
Their official review?
Strongly unfavorable.
These are supposed to be honeybees.
I’m beginning to think they’re actually tiny flying linebackers with anger management issues.
Within seconds I was covered.
Head.
Shoulders.
Back.
Arms.
Everywhere.
Thankfully, my marshmallow suit did its job, but let me tell you…
Feeling hundreds of bees crawling, clinging, and vibrating all over your body will get your attention in a hurry.
I could hear them.
I could feel them.
My entire back was humming.
Every vibration made me wonder if I’d forgotten to zip something important.
Once everything was closed up, I slowly walked away.
No running.
No flailing.
Just calm, steady steps while my heart was trying to qualify for the Olympics.
By the time I reached the garden fence everything got quiet.
“Oh…”
“I think they’re gone.”
Bless my heart.
I gave my suit one good shake.
WHOOSH!
I have never heard anything quite like it.
It honestly sounded like someone fired up a buzz saw in the middle of the woods.
Hundreds of bees launched off my suit all at once.
I almost jumped out of my boots.
Instead of panicking, I remembered exactly what you’re supposed to do.
Stay calm.
Don’t run.
Don’t swat.
Don’t act like a windmill.
So I slowly walked into the middle of my garden and stood there.
Shook the suit.
Waited.
Shook it again.
One by one they decided my flowers, squash blossoms, tomatoes, beans, and everything else blooming were far more interesting than I was.
My daughter stayed safely inside the house on purpose. If I ended up with a bee inside my suit or got stung somewhere I couldn’t see, she could check me over once I was away from the hive without having to stand in the middle of an airborne bee riot herself.
Thankfully, it never came to that.
The queen is settled.
The hive is together.
Nobody got stung.
And I learned something today.
Sometimes courage isn’t about not having your heart race.
Sometimes it’s simply standing perfectly still in the middle of your garden while sounding like you’re wearing an angry helicopter.
Needless to say…
That burlap can’t get here fast enough.
Because these girls?
They’re sweet.
They’re hardworking.
They’re absolutely essential.
And they are also tiny little featherweight UFC fighters.
I already love them.
Even if they think I’m the neighborhood nuisance.
© Amberli Emery. All Rights Reserved.
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