I say. “What made you think to do beef farming? You have so many other things going.”
“I have crops, but I want to work with animals. Raising beef was something my father always wanted and put off because he didn’t know enough about them. My degree is in bioveterinary science. I was going to be the brains behind the operation.”
“Bio what?”
“I studied animal health and welfare. I don’t want to hang a veterinary sign. I’d rather work outdoors. I want to raise animals and help other farmers if they need assistance.”
“Your father would be proud,” I say. “This is all very impressive.”
“You think?” he asks, like he doesn’t really believe me.
“You always knew you wanted to do this?” I ask.
“Farms are handed down. It was a given. I guess it’s just a good thing I like this lifestyle.”
“There was nothing else you wanted to be? Fireman? Police officer?”
“It’s not a bad thing, Alyson.”
“I don’t mean—”
“Even if there were something else, I have to be here.” There’s a sadness in his eyes, a regret of sorts as he looks to the horizon, avoiding my gaze.
“Have to?” I ask. Surely he doesn’t have to be here, like I do.
“I promised my dad I’d take care of things, and I plan to do that. I owe him that much.”
I’m about to ask what he means by that when we come across a barn.
“Here we are,” he says. “This is my bee barn.”
We step inside and sunshine slants in through a small window, and the dust we stir up dances in the light with our entrance. I take in the space, my gaze raking over a table with a blue cloth over it and a few tools on top. There is a big steel pot on legs, with a lever on the lid and a bunch of buckets with nozzles on the bottom. A couple of white suits hang on a hook, and Jay takes one down.
“This will be big on you, but that’s what you want. Bees can’t sting if they can’t reach your body.”
I tug it on, and Jay gets into his gear beside me. He checks me over, closes some flap near my neck, and puts a hood on me.
“This is called a veil,” he explains. “And you’ll need these gloves.” Like I’m five years old, he puts the gloves on me and tugs until they are up to my elbow. My stomach does a weird little dance. I’ve had men undress me before but never dress me, and I have to say, it’s kind of nice the way he takes care of me. In fact, the man takes care of everyone. Who, then, is taking care of him? He gives me a once-over, finishes dressing himself, and we head outside to the boxes.
For the next half hour, I listen intently and with fascination as he shows me all the parts to the stacked double boxes. I learn the queen, drones, and workers live in a brood box, where the queen lays her eggs. Brood refers to eggs, pupa, and larvae, and they all develop into fully grown bees. He talks about pollen and nectar stores, how bees will beard, meaning they all hover together to protect and warm the honey when it’s colder out. He then removes one of the frames from the box. Bees buzz about, and I don’t panic this time.
“Before we process this,” he says, “we need to brush the bees off.” He takes a small brush and gently runs it over the bees, cleaning them from the honeycomb. “Now we take these frames inside and process them in the extractor.” He puts the frames back in the box and carries the entire thing inside.
“What can I do?”
He smiles at my enthusiasm, places a big square container on the table, and removes one of the frames. “You enjoying this so far?”
“Yeah, and I kind of like seeing what fascinates you so much. I like learning about your passions.”
“Beekeeping isn’t for everyone,” he says and frowns, and I’m not sure why, but I get the sneaking suspicion that his sadness has something to do with Juanita.
“Well, I can’t wait to eat the honey.”
“Then are you ready for me to show you how it’s done?” I give a very animated nod. “Okay, some people use a hot knife to remove the honeycomb. I prefer to use this.” He holds up a serrated knife and positions the frame on the edge of the container. “I just cut it away really