“That sounds like a great idea. I can have my wranglers build them for you once you show us where they should go.”
“Let’s go see your hives?”
“Yeah, what’s left of them.”
“In my last phone call with Theresa, she said they’d cleaned out the twenty hives that lost their colonies to starvation. She told me they are ready to be recolonized. If you approve that, I think the next chore is building those concrete pads and placing them around your property in strategic locations. Then, ordering the packets of bee colonies for each one.”
“Sounds like a plan. Let’s go see your bees.”
* * *
Cari climbed out of the truck, her gaze on the five hives that had survived massive starvation. All the hives sat up on a slight knoll. She tried to ignore the quiet charisma of Chase Bishop. He was focused entirely on her, what she had to say, and he asked good questions. He cared about the bees and that made her heart swell. There was no question that he really wanted a honey operation here on his ranch, but he wanted it done right, and most important to her was that he wanted his bees protected and well fed. He had everything a bee could want to make honey on his ranch, plus the weather goddesses and gods had given a microclimate blessing to this verdant valley. She now understood why Mary had come up with the idea in the first place. She’d done a lot of reading up on bee operations for honey making and saw the potential on her son’s ranch. Talk about an empowered woman!
They climbed the knoll side by side, the grass green and lush. At the top of it were all the empty hives. At the other end, Cari could see a lot of bee activity. She halted and handed him her notebook. “Are you familiar with working around bees?”
“No, not really. Court said I didn’t need to be out here with him.” Shrugging, Chase said unhappily, “I should have come out, I should have learned.”
“Do you have a bee hat with a net?” she wondered.
“No. Nothing. I used to see him from time to time and he wore a white suit with a white hat and net, plus gloves. He was always carrying around something in his hand.”
“Probably a smoker,” she said. “You use that to squirt a few gentle puffs into the hive to calm the bees so they don’t attack you. The smoke calms them.”
“And where’s your bee suit?”
“I don’t need one.”
Alarmed, his brows went up. “You’re going to go to those hives without any protection?” He saw her eyes sparkle.
“Me and the bee nation are friends,” was all she’d say. “A good beekeeper, who has the trust of the bees, rarely needs anything more than a hat with netting, and a smoker. I’m going to just stand with them, watch them. You can tell a lot that way.”
“But won’t they sting you?”
“I hope not. Sometimes, when I’m opening a hive, a bee will suddenly slip between the wood and me raising a panel. That can upset them and they can sting. But that’s pretty rare. If you watch me, you’ll learn.” And she walked away. Some people had a fear of bees. She did not.
Walking across the nubby spring grass, she came to within five feet of the hives and just stood watching them. There were hundreds of them flying in and out of the small, round hole at the bottom of the hive. She watched the guard bees, whose job it was to protect the entrance into the hive, behaving as they should: being alert and watchful. That way, no bee, or any other insect, would be allowed into the hive to harm the brood eggs, the queen, or anyone else. They were the ones who would most likely attack someone if they felt threatened by their presence.
A bee landed on her right hand. She smiled, watching it walk around, checking her out. She did not move, rather, remained at ease. Bees could sense fear or tension around a human in a heartbeat. She gave off energy and pheromones, which bees could pick up instantly and react to. Two more guard bees flew over, one on her other hand and one landing on her right shoulder. They were, indeed, checking her out. Soon enough, all three of them flew back to the hive to their respective guard posts outside the entrance.
She did the same “introduction” with the other four hives. Here, she was in her element. She was with her bee people that she loved with a passion. And the bees sensed her love and respect for them. At the last hive, not only did some of the guard bees come out, but about a hundred honeybees came out and landed on her left shoulder and made a soft, velvety gold and brown ball, just sitting there, humming. Her heart soared with such love for these sentient, intelligent beings. Cari hummed softly in return to the cluster of bees. The guard bees joined them and she smiled, looking down at them. After five minutes, the bees all disassembled from their ball and flew back to their hive. They had work to do!
Lifting her chin, she gazed toward Chase, who had a stricken expression on his face. She smiled at him. “I’m all right,” she reassured him, and returned her attention to the hives.
Most modern-day hives were of one type and design only, known as Langstroth. There were two other types used in the world: the top-bar hive and the Warre hive. Chase had the Langstroth type, which looked like a bunch of boxes painted different colors so that each resembled a five- or eight-story apartment building made from wood. She walked slowly around each one, noting how it was cared for, the age of the wood, and if the boxes were in good repair or not. After finishing her inspection, she walked toward Chase, who still had a worried expression on his face.
“Relax, I didn’t get stung,” she said as she came to a halt in front of him.
“That,” he rasped, “was amazing.”
“Yes, bees are amazing,” she agreed, smiling up at him. She could see in his gray eyes that he hadn’t quite believed what he had seen just a moment ago. Explaining that the guard bees had come to suss out her intent, and finding her not to be a threat to the hive, they left her alone. And that would enable her to thoroughly check the exterior of the hives without being stung.
“Then,” he asked, “what was that ball of bees doing on your shoulder? I thought they were attacking you.”
“Oh, no, they weren’t,” Cari said, turning and standing at his shoulder, gaze on the hives. “I told the bees I was their friend, that you, I, Mary, and Theresa would help them become strong and healthy again.”
“You told them that? I didn’t see you talking.”
“Mental telepathy.”
Chase stared down at her. “Who are you?”
Laughter spilled from her lips. “I assure you, and as you know already, I’m terribly human.”
“But . . . I saw what happened . . .”
She felt him searching for a logical answer and couldn’t find one. “I’ve been around bees since I was a little tot. My family raised bees for five generations in Hawaii. I grew up with them. I found out very quickly that they could read my thoughts, or my intentions toward them. My mother, Nalani, who is Hawaiian, comes from those wonderful generations of beekeepers. She told me one day to ‘talk’ to them with my mind, that the bees would pick it up and understand.”
“These bees don’t know English,” he said, frowning.
“No, they don’t. But humans give off pheromones and bees are acutely sensitive to them. That is one way that they communicate with one another in and outside the hive. Their sense of smell is acute, and they can smell us as well. They know by the odor if we’re friend or foe.”