I collected the rest of the gear and motioned for her to follow. We set off in the direction of the hives, passing clutches of azalea bushes, into an area dense with dogwoods, flowering cherry trees, and magnolias. The air was thick with the sound of buzzing, and bees could be seen clustering on practically every bloom.
At the edge of the property, the vegetation grew denser. Directly ahead I caught sight of one of the hives; though my grandfather had built his own, they were similar to ones that could be purchased as kits or used by commercial farmers, consisting essentially of a stand supporting a stack of wooden chambers, along with lids. As always, I was amazed by the idea that it would be home to more than a hundred thousand bees.
“We should stop here and put on the rest of our gear.”
After donning our gloves, we approached the hive, bees bumping against the mesh of our hoods.
I added air to the smoker and puffed out some smoke near the hive before setting it on the ground.
“That’s it?”
“You don’t need much smoke,” I explained. “Bees have an acute sense of smell.” I pointed toward an area beneath the lip of the lid. “Do you see this? It’s how the bees get in and out of the hive.”
She took a cautious step closer. “How long do we have to wait for the smoke to work?”
“It’s working now,” I said. “They’ll be calm for fifteen or twenty minutes.”
“Does the smoke hurt them?”
“Not at all,” I said. “Let me show you the inside of the hive.”
Lifting off the top lid—or outer cover, in beekeeper-speak—I set it aside. Then, using the uncapping knife, I loosened the inner cover. Always a bit sticky, it was harder than usual to pry off, probably because it hadn’t been removed in months.
Once I freed the inner cover, I set it on the ground as well. “Come take a peek,” I said. “They’re friendly now.”
With obvious trepidation, she peered over my shoulder. I pointed to the top chamber. “This part of the hive is called the upper deep. It’s the food chamber. There are ten hanging frames, and this is where most of the honey is stored.”
Pointing to the chamber beneath it, I went on. “The one right below is called the lower deep, and it’s the brood chamber.”
“Wow,” she murmured. There were hundreds of slow-moving bees crawling on top of and between the frames. Natalie seemed genuinely rapt.
“I’m glad you were interested in coming here,” I said. “Otherwise I probably would have forgotten to add the shallow super and the queen excluder. I didn’t remember until I saw them in the honey shed.”
“What are they for?”
“The shallow super adds additional honey storage to the hive for the larger summer bee population. It’s like the upper deep, only smaller. The queen excluder ensures that the queen won’t up and fly away.”
“You don’t need them year-round?”
I shook my head. “You’ll want a smaller hive in the winter so it’s easier to keep warm.”
On the upper deep, bees continued to crawl around with unflagging energy and purpose. I pointed to a large wasplike one. “See this one?” I asked. “That’s a drone.”
She peered closer, then eventually pointed to another. “That one, too?”
I nodded. “As I told you, they’re greatly outnumbered by the females, like Hugh Hefner in the Playboy Mansion.”
“Nice metaphor,” she drawled.
I grinned. “Let me show you something.”
I removed my gloves, then reached down and gently picked up one of the worker bees by her wings. She was still docile from the smoke. Using the thumbnail on my other hand, I provoked her until she tried to sting me through the nail.
“What are you doing?” Natalie whispered. “Are you trying to make her angry?”
“Bees don’t get angry.” I manipulated the bee again, and again it tried to sting me three, four, and then five times. “Watch this,” I went on. I put the bee on the back of my hand and let go of the wings. Instead of continuing to try to sting, the bee took a few steps and then flew slowly back toward the upper deep.
“The bee doesn’t care about me, or what I just did to her,” I said. “She was just trying to protect herself. Now that the threat is gone, she doesn’t hold a grudge.”
Through the mesh, I read fascination and newfound respect.
“Interesting,” she said. “Way more complex than I imagined.”
“Bees are extraordinary creatures,” I said, hearing the echo of my grandfather’s