by Joan Bauer
Elizabeth lifted petunias from the starter boxes, knelt down, and started planting a row of flowers near the street on what used to be the Ludlow property. We chose petunias because they’re so much tougher than they look.
A little brown rabbit hopped over and smelled the petunias. “Baby animals sense goodness,” Elizabeth declared.
“Baby animals get eaten a lot,” T.R. mentioned.
But right now we were going symbolic, which isn’t always easy for journalists.
I’m standing in the middle of the orchard, trying to appear relaxed as Uncle Felix and Juan-Carlos open the mesh cages and release the bees. It’s night and the bees have been sleeping, but now hundreds of them fill the air. This is why I’m wearing mosquito netting over my head—not the greatest fashion statement, I’ll grant you. You can say all you want about how bees pollinate apple trees and are a grower’s friend. But there’s a dark side to bees. If I learned anything this past year, I learned that.
A swarm circles my head.
“Come on, kids,” Uncle Felix shouts at the buzzing mass. “Do it for Daddy!”
It takes a minute, but eventually the bees embrace their mission and head for the apple blossoms.
Uncle Felix looks emotionally toward the trees and says what he always says in early May. “If the bees do what they’re supposed to do, if the rain holds off, if the wind doesn’t blow too hard, if the pickers show up on time and stay with us till the end, then maybe, just maybe, we’ll make it.”
“We will,” I tell him.
“I am certain,” Juan-Carlos says with confidence.
Felix watches the bees. “Do you know what your grandfather used to say, Hildy?”
I do, actually. We go through this every year.
“He used to say you could always tell if the harvest was going to be good or bad by how the bees went for the blossoms.”
Growers have lots of cute stories to give them hope.
Teenagers are like bees at night, I think. We don’t like waking up and we don’t always get with the program immediately, but once we figure out our mission, we’ll see it through.
Uncle Felix studies the movement of the bees, liking what he sees. “You know, Hildy, I’ve got a feeling—this just might be a good one.”
Special thanks to family and friends for their remarkable support during the writing and rewriting of this story:
Jean, Tim, Evan, Karen, JoAnn, Rita, Laura, Mickey, Kally, Chris, Marie, Catrina, Jo Ellen, and Beth.
Much appreciation, as always, to my agent, George Nicholson, and my editor, Nancy Paulsen.
I owe a debt to four valuable books and their writers: Pete Hamill’s News Is a Verb (New York: Ballantine Publishing, 1998); The Elements of Journalism by Bill Kovach and Tom Rosenstiel (New York: Three Rivers Press, Crown Publishing Group, 2001); The Culture of Fear by Barry Glassner (New York: Basic Books, Perseus Books Group, 1999); and Solidarity’s Secret by Shana Penn
(Michigan: The University of Michigan Press, 2005).
