Page 45 of The Beekeeper's Cottage
Amos looked up and she was relieved to see he was smiling.
‘And what did the bees say?’ he asked.
‘About time too,’ she replied. ‘So I guess we shouldn’t keep them waiting, should we?’
‘I’m ready if you are. Just as long as you promise that there will be no photographic evidence of me in a beekeeper’s suit.’
Grace pulled a face. ‘Spoilsport.’
Amos was more nervous than he cared to admit. And not just about the bees. It wasn’t that he was nervous of getting stung per se, it was more that he worried that by doing something foolish he might cause a bee to sting him, thereby sentencing it to death. It was a thought he was finding increasingly difficult to keep from his mind. Coupled with the slight change in Grace’s mood that he had noticed over recent days, he was beginning to find his thoughts freewheeling, and it wasn’t a feeling that Amos enjoyed.
He was well aware that to others his life might have appeared chaotic, but he preferred the sense of optimism and possibility this gave him rather than the complacent or static existence that most people seemed to favour. By contrast, however, on the inside, Amos rarely felt chaotic. It had taken a long time to achieve this equilibrium which, over the last few weeks, had been sorely tested, and today he was finding it increasingly difficult to contain his thoughts. But, for Grace’s sake, he must, and he drew in another deep breath.
It was understandable that Grace’s anxiety was building. In just over a week her house would be full of guests for the weekend and, assuming everything went well, she would know that her future in the house was secure. It was her reward of course, but he wondered if she could see, as he could, that the penalty was in the loss of Grace herself. Whereas a few weeks ago she had begun to open up to ideas, to bloom under the energy created by possibility, now she was beginning to constrict again, her field of vision narrowing more and more with each passing day as all her thoughts became centred on her house and this one point in time. It was how she would be left when the weekend was over that worried Amos. But how on earth could he even begin to explain that Grace’s absolute conviction that keeping the house would solve all her problems wasn’t necessarily a good thing, not when everything they had done over the last few weeks would culminate with her attaining her dream?
He looked up and smiled. ‘Come on then, let’s go and say hello to the bees.’ He pushed his shoulders downward, willing them to relax, and tried to clear his mind from rushing thoughts.
A few minutes later, once they were suited up, strangely Amos did begin to feel calmer. Perhaps it was the beekeeper’s hat which helped. It made him feel a little like an astronaut, a stranger in a strange land, and he instantly became very aware of how he was moving and even breathing. Grace walked on ahead of him, but she paused once they neared the hives.
‘How are you feeling?’ she asked.
‘Humble,’ replied Amos, a little surprised by his choice of word. He had said the first thing that came into his mind, but now that he thought about his response he realised how perfect it was.
‘Then we’re good to go,’ said Grace, smiling. ‘And don’t forget, if you need to back away at any time, just do so. The hive is very full and the sheer number of bees can be overwhelming. It’s not a sign of weakness if you panic.’
Amos nodded, swallowing. ‘So just how many bees would that be exactly?’
Even through the net of her hat, Amos could see Grace’s eyes twinkling. ‘Well, you know I’ve never counted them… exactly… but roughly? Getting on for close to a hundred thousand.’
Amos could feel his eyes widening.
‘But don’t worry, they won’t all be at home,’ Grace added. ‘Now, once I lift the lid you can expect to have a few bees pinging at you. They’re guard bees just doing their job, but ignore them and just stand still, okay?’
He nodded again, his mouth suddenly dry as he stood beside her.
‘So this is what’s called a top bar hive,’ continued Grace, removing the lid. ‘And inside are rows of slats, or the bars as they’re called, and it’s from these that the bees begin to build their comb – straight down, with any luck. So what we end up with are rows and rows of comb with a space between them just big enough for a bee to crawl. And, at this time of year, with a new brood raised and the numbers in the hive increased, the production of honey is being stepped up and up; it’s what the colony will need to live off during the winter.’
He watched while Grace worked a metal tool under the edge of both sides of one of the bars to loosen it from where it was stuck to the hive. She waggled it experimentally to check if it was free.
‘Are you ready for this?’ She grinned and, as he nodded, lifted the bar straight up into the air.
The buzzing changed gear, becoming louder as a mass of bees was lifted clear of the hive, all clinging to the sheet of honeycomb they had made. For a second he felt a moment of panic, assailed by their sheer number, the power that emanated from within this giant machine, but then, as quickly as it came, the feeling disappeared and his discomfort turned to absolute awe. Amos was witness to a spectacle that few had seen and he did indeed feel humbled to be in the presence of such amazing creatures. His eyes feasted on their furry bodies, blurred in the movement of their dance, until it was hard to make out top from bottom, and he watched them for a moment, entranced by their industry in motion.
Grace turned the bar until it was facing her and she held it up so that Amos could see it.
‘What do you think?’ she asked.
Amos’s eyes were still fixed on the comb. ‘I think it’s…’ he began, trailing off, his head suddenly filling with adjectives, none of which seemed to accurately describe how he was feeling. ‘Profound…’ he said eventually, even then the word sticking in his throat.
Grace smiled. ‘It gets you like that, doesn’t it? And do you feel incredibly small, and utterly insignificant?’
Amos’s mouth dropped open. ‘Oh yes,’ he sighed. ‘That’s exactly it…’
‘And what if I were to tell you that each honey bee, in the whole of her lifetime, only makes about a twelfth of a teaspoon of honey… and yet they continue to do so, knowing that however little it is, their cumulative work is what counts. Every bee is a teeny tiny cog in a very big wheel, but they are a part of something far, far greater than they could ever be individually.’
Amos stared at her. ‘If that were us, we’d give up,’ he answered. ‘No question about it.’ His eyes were still searching the comb in front of him. ‘I think that’s the most inspiring thing I’ve ever seen.’
‘Which is why, whenever I get to the bottom of a jar of honey, I make sure I use every last drop.’ She shifted her grip slightly, pulling a face. ‘It’s getting heavy,’ she added. ‘And you can see where the honey is… all those cells which are capped with paler-looking wax, they’re full and have been sealed by the bees.’
