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

the pan and filled it with water. The big dog emptied it three times and then collapsed with his nose on his paws and gazed up at the boy with loving eyes.

Jake felt his heart swell and closed the screen door. “Tell me how you found him again?”

Harry repeated the story about the chicken feed bucket, and Jake laughed until tears ran down his cheeks. They both pretended it was because the image was hilarious and not because Jake’s heart was mending back together.

Jake filled a pitcher with water and handed it to Harry. He pulled plates and glasses out of the cupboards, and together they set the table.

“So, is Mrs. Holtzman a friend of your folks or something?” Harry asked, laying out the silverware.

Jake laughed. “No, she’s not. And don’t call her Mrs. Holtzman, or she’ll kick your ass. It’s Alice. Just Alice.” He paused and rubbed his scalp. “She, kind of, rescued me? I guess that’s the easiest way to put it. My parents . . .”

He trailed off and shook his head. “I’m just staying here for a while.”

Harry nodded. He wasn’t about to quiz anyone about their origins.

“So, are you excited about the bees?” Jake asked, trying to keep the jealousy out of his voice.

Harry shrugged. “I don’t know. The ad said light construction and chores. I don’t know anything about bees.”

Jake grinned at him. “They’re pretty cool, man. That’s all I can say. They’ll kinda blow your mind.”

Alice and Ronnie came inside, and the four of them sat around the kitchen table and ate Jake’s chili. Alice wanted to laugh but knew she shouldn’t. These poor boys had seen enough lady crazy for one day. Still, it was funny. Three dinner guests on Alice Island.

Harry shook hands with Ronnie before he left. “Thanks, man,” he said.

“No, thank you, man,” Ronnie said, his voice low. “Fucking gun. Jesus!”

“No worries,” Harry said.

Alice walked Ronnie out to the Jeep. She hugged her nephew and promised she would call the family about Angie’s party. Ronnie kissed her on the cheek and left.

Alice turned back to the house and saw Cheney, his head cocked, considering Red Head Ned, who had locked the dog in his glare and was stalking toward him. Alice pointed at the chicken yard and said, “No chickens. Understand? Watch yourself there, big dog. Or you’ll be homeless again.”

Cheney looked at her, blinked, and trotted back toward the house. She sighed. First a teenager, and now a dog and a twentysomething. She shook her head. She’d told Harry he could sleep in the bunkroom until he found a place.

Alice shoved her hands in her pockets and cast a glance at her hives. Her eyes landed on the dead ones. Even from a distance, they looked so still. She would start there with Harry, she decided. She would have him take them apart and scrape out all the wax and bodies. First things first. There was still enough light to show Harry the bees.

Harry’s introduction to the bees was quick, but not in the way Alice had expected. It took less than ten seconds for Harry to communicate to Alice, Jake, Cheney, and any neighbors within a mile that the bees scared the absolute shit out of him.

Taking his cue from Jake, he declined a hat and veil. So, when Alice opened the first hive and the guard bees flew gently up around his face, Harry yelped and slapped at them. The guard bees responded with a stress pheromone, and then Harry was under attack. He took off up the hill, with Cheney bounding after him.

Alice eased the top of the hive back on and watched Harry disappear into the woods.

“Well,” she said with a sigh, “my fault. You’ve clearly skewed my sense of newbies.”

Jake grinned at her.

“We’ll have to take things slowly with young Harry. If he ever comes back, that is,” she said.

She sat on the windbreak and pulled out the hive diary to look at Jake’s notes again.

“Count estimate,” she said, looking up at him. “Now, how did you figure that out?”

Jake shrugged. “Just something I read on the Internet. You count the bees on either side of the middle frame and multiply it by ten for a week-old nuc hive.”

She raised an eyebrow.

“I had some time on my hands,” he said, trying to sound casual.

Alice flipped through the entries and came to the series of sketches again—bee bodies, wings, antennae, legs, and pollen baskets. The face of a bee emerging from its cell, the bee waggle.

“Wow, kid! These are really good.”

He shrugged, embarrassed.

“No, really, Jake. This is great detail. I mean it. Now, tell me about the sound again.”

This was a story he’d never tire of. Jake closed his eyes and described the thrum of a healthy hive and that magical queen song, that ringing G-sharp.

“Show me,” Alice said.

The two of them traveled a row of hives, and Jake paused by each one and sat with his eyes closed and his head cocked.

“Queen,” he would say when he heard it.

She believed him. Clearly this kid had some special talent with bees.

“Come over here.” She strode toward the west edge of the field, toward the dead hives, and stopped at the row right before them, hives No. 7 through No. 12. She gestured down the row.

“What about these?” she asked.

Jake rolled down the row, listening.

Seven, he nodded. Eight, he nodded again. Nine was fainter but he could hear it. At Ten he shook his head. Alice sighed and looked out toward Doug Ransom’s orchard and then back at the hives. She turned to Jake and smiled grimly.

“Got any plans tomorrow night?” she asked.

18 Congregating

Honey-Bees can flourish only when associated in large numbers, as in a colony. In a solitary state, a single bee is almost as helpless as a new-born child, being paralyzed by the chill of a cool Summer night.

—L. L. LANGSTROTH

Life in a honeybee colony is