Our bodies are rebelling against us after a six hour road trip.
The sun is setting, and our bees are settling in for the evening.
We wanted to curl up with a slice of our favorite delivery pizza–garlic and double mushroom–and reruns of No Reservations, but during the long drive we agreed to add our second honey super to the hive that evening.
Perhaps our docile group of ladies had lulled us into a false sense of safety. Or maybe it was just blind stupidity. Either way, out we went to the hive, neither of us donning our protective gear. You can probably guess the rest from here.
A curious bee buzzed dangerously close to Greg’s eye as he was placing the cover back on the hive. Greg who is usually as calm as our bees, moving slowly and deliberately at all times around the hive, lost his cool and got his first sting of the summer on his nose. He raced into the house. Heeding the call of her kamikaze comrade, a second bee gave chase and made it inside before I could get the door closed. (Being none the smarter, I was slow to react because I was at my usual post behind the camera lens.) Once inside the bold bee was immediately drawn to the bathroom light fixture where she later died. And twenty-four hours later I was sitting across the dinner table from Two-Face.
Another lesson learned the hard way.