Here is another short story inspired by the same backyard that prompted Dandelions. Unlike the Dandelions story, however, this tale is based on a series of real life events. When a hive took up residence inside the wall of as house on a hillside, the question became “why are they here?” That led to an exploration of possible (albeit unlikely) causes. The real-life story took a dramatic (and tragic) turn when the bees started dying – seemingly for no reason. Pondering the possible reason led to this tale about a simple worker bee named Honey, who strives to serve her queen and save her hive from the perils of habit destruction, foreign invaders, and human indifference.

Note – In addition to the joy of crafting this story, I also took tremendous pleasure in incorporating alliteration into Honey’s dialogue. Despite creative writing for over seventeen years , this was my first time exploring rhyme within the overall flow of the story. I really enjoyed the process. It made editing far more grueling, but also provided much more satisfaction with the end result.

This is part one of the story. Additional parts will be posted each week.

Bees, Pt 1

By R. Scott Boyer

 

The honeybee came from the narrow canyon below the house. Carried by the wind, up and over the deck, she settled on the flower bed beside the pool. Here, Honey found a banquet of blossoms far sweeter and more savory than the chaparral on the slope.

“Look at all the flavorful flowers!” declared Honey. “Fully fabulous!”

“Well, hello there,” came a voice from the depths of the garden.

Honey spun on her stinger to see a young human female sitting in a bed of peonies and petunias. Dainty, with a yellow sundress and pink bonnet, the raven-haired girl held out a slender hand towards Honey. “My name is Belle. What’s your name?”

Having never spoken to a human before, Honey struggled to say something. After buzzing about for a bit, she said shyly, “I’m Honey. I came to collect for my colony.”

“I’ll bet you came from the canyon,” said Belle. “I heard the neighbors have a hive in that big oak tree in their backyard.”

“That’s right,” said Honey. “We live high in the branches, and there are lots of wonderful wildflowers nearby, but these cultivated crops are superior. Such succulent blossoms!”

“Well, you are welcome to visit whenever you like,” said Belle. “Mom always says that busy bees make for beautiful bouquets.” With that, Belle plucked several of the petunias and placed them in a basket on her lap.

“Thank you so much,” said Honey, and set about collecting pollen.

With a whisk of her wings and an angle of her antenna, she went to work on the goldenrod and echinacea. She visited African daisies, purple coneflowers, and blue flax. Basking in the warm wind, she took time to savor each flavorful flower, each precious petal, and each savory scent.

When she was done, she looked for Belle to say goodbye, but the little girl had Houdinied into her home. With a sad shrug, Honey dropped off the deck and into the wild woods. Navigating by the position of the sun and her keen sense of smell, she traversed the hillside en route to the hive. Despite the vast distance, she easily sensed the collective tucked high in the hollow of the gnarled white oak.

Arriving at dusk, she found her place within the comb and set about delivering her bounty, along with the message of where she’d been and what she’d seen. That night, Honey was the hum of the hive, with every worker wanting to hear about what she’d seen, the scents she’d smelled, and other similar stuff.

The following day, a squad of insect soldiers followed her on a sortie back to the sunny structure. As they approached, they fanned out to either side. Pouring over the railing, they descended upon the bushes and bramble, visiting the dandelions and daisies alike as they set about fertilizing the fragrant flowers. Reporting that night, her companions endorsed Honey’s haven. It truly was a splendid site with plenty of promise.

Soon, sojourns to the gorgeous garden became part of the colony’s calendar. Their sovereign still sent workers to scour their surroundings, but more and more, she sent her subjects to the house as well. Squads arrived each morning, vibrant yellow and velvet in the summer sun. They whisked about their work all day. Then at dusk, they retired to their refuge where they rested and refreshed.

Occasionally, Belle and her mother came to the garden and visited with Honey and her cohorts. Honey would flap a fluttering forewing to say hello. Belle would wave a white willow wand that she pretended was magic and tell Honey how luscious the lilacs and larkspur looked.

“More flowers!” Belle would shout as if seeking to summon them from the soil. “We need more flowers!”

Sure enough, her mother soon planted four more flowerbeds; new species that Honey had never tasted before. First came a trough of black-eyed Susans, and sunflowers. Next came a row of white yarrow with California poppies and sweet alyssum. More bounty for the bees. More happiness for the humans.

For weeks, the pattern persisted. Honey harvested and befriended Belle during the day. Then she rested and recovered in the hive high in the oak at night.

Then, one misty morning, Honey woke to a roaring racket. A voracious vibration filled the hive, as if someone or something were trying to tear their tree apart. Following the flow of flying drones, Honey discovered a human at the base of the gnarled oak. The man wore thick layers of protective clothing and carried a long-handled chainsaw with jagged teeth that spit and howled as he held it aloft.

Buzzzz. Buzzzzz. The chainsaw bit into the side of the oak. The majestic tree trembled in protest, but the human appeared not to hear as hunks of heavy bark and jagged wood tore from its trunk. Drones charged at the human, calling for him to stop his relentless rampage. But the human kept tearing into the tree, ignoring them as easily as one might an angry breeze.

Buzz, buzz went the chainsaw. Buzz, buzz went the bees.

“Defend our dwelling!” shouted the queen.

“Protect our property!” shouted Honey along with the other bees.

With reckless resistance, the honeybees rushed at the human. But her genus was gentle, with no appetite for harming humans, not even ones hoping to harm their home. Angry as they were, few bees actually attacked. The ones that did encountered only thick layers of protective apparel. Try as they might, they had no approach to harm this human or halt what happened.

Buzzz. Buzzzz. With an incredible crack, the base of the tree tore apart. Toppling as if in slow motion, the old oak and all its inhabitants slammed to the ground. Boom! Nestled in the hollow, the honeycomb smashed to pieces, scattering bees in every direction. Some buzzed about the broken beehive while others lay sprawled on the ground, shocked and shaken at the surreal situation.

“The empress is exposed!” yelled Honey.

“Shield our sovereign!” cried other workers.

Male drones took up positions around their martyred matriarch. But the males of the species had no stingers and could do nothing but shout at the human to stay back. Once again, the horrible human paid no mind as he set about cutting up the trunk of their tree.

***