The Music of Bees Eileen Garvin (best autobiographies to read .TXT) 📖

between a drone and a worker bee, and after they had identified the long, slender body of the queen bee in the middle of the box, Jake had a hundred questions.

Why was the queen in the middle, and why did she live longer than the others? Why did she have a green dot on her? How did the workers know what their jobs were? What happened to them in winter? What about the drones? Where do the bees get the pollen and nectar, and what was the difference between nectar and honey? How did they know where to fly? Where did the wax come from? Why did only the queen lay eggs?

Most people restricted their questions to stings and honey. A few asked about winter. Jake’s interest pleased Alice. She talked, and the boy listened. Really listened. The sun climbed over the field as they sat at a picnic table under the big cottonwood and watched the dance of the bees. Alice told him about royal jelly, gestation periods, bee space, and drone congregating areas. They talked for a long time.

Alice went back to the house and brought iced tea. They sat in a companionable silence, watching the honeybees stream from their hives into the forest and fields. Alice was surprised to feel easy sitting there with the boy. As a woman without children, Alice was not accustomed to teenagers, who, as a rule, made her uncomfortable. The only ones she saw regularly were the sullen progeny of her co-workers, who barely looked up from their phones to address her when prodded by their parents.

“You started with just the one hive, then?” Jake asked.

Alice nodded and smiled. She pulled her hair off her neck and wrapped it in a rubber band. She pointed out Hive No. 1 near the west fence line. “That one was my very first. I never thought I’d have twenty-four.”

“And you want to have fifty by the end of the summer?”

“Yep. If I don’t take as much honey and split the strong hives, I think it could work. Most of them are doing really well because we’ve had a good spring. I can probably capture some wild swarms to make new hives too.”

As long as no unseasonably hot spring days shriveled the delicate blossoms, she was thinking. As long as no big storms blew through the orchard, decimating the blossoms. She thought the kid would ask her next about how to catch a swarm. Instead he asked the one question she hadn’t seen coming, the most obvious question someone would ask.

“How did you get your first hive?”

There was a long pause, and Alice set down her glass with a bang. She couldn’t speak. Stalling, she looked back across the field and then up to the house. He was waiting for her to answer. The weight of her not answering sagged between them like a line of wet laundry. Alice felt her breath grow shallow and her chest tighten. Not here. Not now. She could not freak out in front of this kid, and she could not answer his question without freaking out. She punted.

“Damn!” she said, jumping up. “I forgot I was supposed to—Listen, I’ll be back in an hour. I’ve got to run into town. Sorry!”

Without a backward glance, she hustled over to the truck, picked the keys off the seat, and disappeared up the long driveway.

As soon as the house was out of sight, she pulled over and turned off the engine. She leaned her head back and tried to slow her breathing. Her heart hammered like mad, and a high-pitched tone rang in her ears.

Follow the thread, Dr. Zimmerman had said. Her laugh was a sob. No problem this time. An innocent question was a booby trap of memory. That was why it was easier to avoid talking to people. Invariably someone would blindside her with a simple question like Jake’s.

Alice had seen her first hive at the Hood River County Fair on a date with Bud Ryan more than ten years ago. It was not the first time Bud had asked her out, after months of flirting with her at the John Deere store. He had worked in the maintenance department then and befriended her dad, who had taken the tractor in to get the belt replaced. Tall, handsome Bud Ryan. What he saw in her, she never understood. Al couldn’t understand why she wouldn’t go out with him.

“It’s just lunch, Alice!” her father railed at her. “Just have lunch with the man, for the love of Pete!”

She said no. She said she worked during lunch. She said she had plans with her parents. She said she had a work thing. She was helping Al with the pruning. Finally, Bud invited her to the county fair.

“The 4-H awards are tomorrow, Ms. Holtzman. It’s a big day for all of our future farmers. Do it for the children, won’t you?”

She had laughed at that, happily defeated, and said yes. What was the big deal anyway? Her unease returned while she waited for him to pick her up that morning. She should be spending the day helping her dad in the orchard, she thought. They had so much to do. She reached for the phone to cancel, and then stopped. When he stepped out of his truck, smiling, she felt glad. Bud was kind and easy to be around. He was at home in his own skin and made her feel that way too.

Alice had always loved the county fair and was pleased when Bud steered her toward the animal competitions. At the lamb judging, they applauded for a tiny girl named Luz Quinto, who won a blue ribbon for her perfectly behaved little lamb. She led it around the circle on a loose rope, and anyone could tell the animal adored her. When the bidding started, Alice’s heart sank. It was part of it, but she hated the idea of seeing that little girl separated from her pet, though Alice knew she would