Related previous posts: Bees, Part 1 / Part 2

Bees, Pt 3

Almost immediately, the collective set about the arduous task of converting the narrow space between the outer and inner walls into a habitable hive. Collecting pollen from the garden, they quickly rebuilt the honeycomb. Within days, Honey had a spot among the colony, a hex cubicle near the back, close to the queen.

What an honor!

By the following week, their routine had returned. In fact, it was even better than before. All of Honey’s friends remarked that the new hive was even nicer and safer than the old oak. They had shelter from the wind and rain, not to mention predators. The queen was free to devote her directives and reassign her resources to regrow the collective and coordinate the colony’s campaign.

As the hive grew, they expanded their search radius. On the outskirts of the property, they encountered workers belonging to a colony from the canyon. Honey and her hive didn’t mind sharing. The garden held plenty for everyone. It was a generation of generosity and growth, and all thanks to Honey.

***

The sound that woke Honey was the second most horrible noise of her life. A mechanical rumble ricochet around the ravine. Flying to the fence separating the walls from the wilderness, Honey witnessed wide-wheeled vehicles descending on the neighbor’s backyard. The same hillside that had held their beloved oak now swarmed with bulldozers and cement trucks. With systematic precision, they tore up the earth. Ripping up everything in their way, the construction converted beautiful wildlife into an apocalyptic scene of upturned soil and dead plants.

Honey shrank back, hovering behind the hydrangeas as humans wielding shovels and pickaxes attacked the earth, digging and hacking at rocks, roots, and other ruined remnants of the lifeless landscape.

Over the next two weeks, Honey and her friends watched as the neighbors converted the rolling terrain into a flat concrete surface with a swimming pool, patio, and pickleball court.

Each night, the hive thrummed with anxiety. Would the humans expand their conquest and colonize the crest of the canyon? There were still many acres of untouched wilderness and wildflowers, but the proximity of the deforestation alarmed more than a few otherwise passive drones. Would the carnage encroach on their domain? Perhaps the humans in Honey’s house would decide to demolish this haven?

In the days that followed, Honey had little time to ponder these possibilities. No sooner had the dust settled from the neighbor’s renovations, than bees from the canyon colony encroached on their high-top haven. Like Honey’s collective, their home had been destroyed by the human’s wanton destruction of the bee’s natural habitat. And so, they sought fresh foliage for foraging.

But unlike Honey’s hive, this colony had failed to find unspoiled or unexplored terrain. And so, emissaries from the canyon’s matriarch carried a message: with their prior resources removed, the canyon bees would now be coming here to pilfer pollen.

At first, Honey didn’t understand the threat. They’d already been sharing the patio’s pollen in peace with the hillside hive. But the true meaning became clear the following day. Instead of a handful of visitors, an entire squadron descended upon their domain. So many arrived, that Honey soon succumbed to a stranger in her own shrubs.

Even more unknown bees arrived the following day.

And even more the next day.

Within a short span, Honey could no longer keep track of which honeybees were part of her troop and which were the trespassers. With so many insects buzzing about, socializing by scent became senseless. Honey had to hover next to another bee and rub antennae with them to know if they were friend of foreigner. Time and time again, she encountered unfamiliar insects who treated her with disdain when she tried to greet them kindly.

Before long, Honey found herself bumping into unknown bees whenever she ventured further than a few feet from her fortress. More often than not, she found a flower already occupied, or located the stigma only to find it drained of its nectar.

How rude! In all her months of life, she’d never known a single member of her colony to completely drain a flower!

For days and nights, her hive bustled with debate as the queen and her advisors deliberated what to do about the other colony’s unwarranted encroachment. They discussed whether to relocate again; to abandon their new home to find somewhere else. But their new hive was so safe and secure, and the garden so generous and green.

“Surely, it holds enough resources for everyone,” argued the optimists among them.

“And what if they were wrong?” argued the pessimists. “They might all starve.”

“What about rationing?” argued the pragmatists. “Alternating harvest day?”

Before the queen could make any decisions, a new set of troubles transpired. The matriarch from the harrowing hive arrived at the far side of the garden. With fierce, formidable, feral pheromones, she sent out messages, not just to the members of her colony, but to all bees in the vicinity. With sonorous scents and blaring blasts, she ordered any and all bees to bring their nectar to her.

When Honey first heard this missive, she didn’t know what to think. Certainly, no one from her colony would willfully give their bounty to a badgering bully. Her fellow workers were neither fools nor defectors. Then Honey ventured out of the hive and into the garden. Instantly, she understood the conundrum.

Once clear of her hive, it became impossible to discern which scents came from which matriarch. Of course, her own queen sent signals to help workers find their way to and from her hive. But the other sovereign also sent signals. Honey received each command as a confounding cluster of conflicting commands.

Come this way!

No, that way!

Fly up to reach us.

No, downward!

They talked over one another, like two marching bands clanging and clashing in chorus. Honey’s poor little head felt fit to burst before she’d even begun to gather any nectar.

What to do? What to do?

At that very moment, Belle emerged from the house and stepped onto the patio. At the sight of all the bees flying in disorganized, drunk directions, she threw up her arms and proclaimed, “What is going on? Why aren’t you sailing straight?”

“We wonder which way to go,” said Honey. “The matriarch’s messages are mixed.”

“You must hurry back to your beehive,” said Belle. Racing about the garden, she made shooing gestures with her hands. “Quickly, all of you, back to your beds before you are too befuddled to fly!”

Having not traveled far, Honey spun on her stinger and rapidly retraced her route. Soon, one signal grew stronger and simple to sense.

That has to be my colony.

She flew quickly towards the sonorous scent. Sure enough, she soon spotted the sauna. In moments, she was back inside her hive, where she nestled into her hexagonal hidey-hole and shivered from the horror of having almost succumbed.

***