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I hop off my seat, leaving my phone, and head outside to check on them.
The sun feels like a warm bath on my skin. The sweet scent of the flowers hangs so thick in the air I inhale happily, feeling the misery leaving my soul.
It’s liberating, being able to turn my back on my phone and my responsibilities and my old rotten life.
Here, life feels good.
As long as it lasts, I’m going to make the most of paradise.
Makingthe most of paradise today involves investigating the bees at the very edge of the garden. There are more than I thought, six sets of boxes total, all parked pretty close together. But there’s one more set a little closer to the forest, I notice.
Langstroth boxes, they’re called. A classic hive for the traditional beekeeper and my personal favorite.
There’s something important to me about the bees feeling protected and not needing to rebuild too much every time their honey gets harvested.
Of course, this is also the most efficient method for doing that. Not necessarily the best for the bees, but I’ve always been a honey lover, and we only harvest a little.
I wonder if Archer would mind if I had a closer look?
I haven’t seen any beekeepers around, which feels like an oversight. Bees are perfectly capable of looking after themselves, but this is a manmade nest. Whoever set it up should be making the rounds near daily to keep the bees safe and comfortable.
Luckily, I’m here now, and I can do the job just fine. Iwantto do it.
I take my time studying the environment, pondering my next move.
The bees are happy on their own without human interference, doing normal bee things. It’s crazy relaxing just being around them.
But I want to do more than watch them from a distance. I want to investigate the honey and make sure the hives are healthy.
So I walk forward, every movement measured and calm.
Bees aren’t like wasps. Sure, they’ll defend their nest if they think it’s in danger, but as long as I don’t look like a threat, they won’t attack.
A few curious scouts land on me as I approach. I smile as they rest for a second before flying off. People have this terrible fear of bugs with stingers, but most bees aren’t naturally aggressive.
Bees are predictable.
Definitely easier to deal with than people, only lashing out when it’s life or death.
If only the world could figure it out, then maybe they’d lay off the insecticides and poisons and give bees a little more space to coexist.
I don’t care how crunchy and naïve that sounds, it’s totally true.
And when I think about it for too long, my throat tightens until I push the thought aside.
These are pretty bees.
Slim brownish gold honeybees with gently striped bodies, happy by all appearances.
I reach the first box and look it over critically. The wood looks like it’s been treated, which is good. There are plenty of holes for the bees to exit and reenter the box.
Moving slowly, I remove the lid from the shorter box to check out the extra honey stored inside. More bees buzz up around me, but I don’t freak out.
One even lands on my nose for a second and then flutters away.
“That’s right, guys. I’m a friend,” I murmur, gently pulling the lid off and setting it on the ground.
Loud buzzing fills my ears, but that’s not what grabs my attention. There’s something purple between the panels.