I figured she must have been the oldest bee in the hive. I found her on the ground a short distance away, staggering as she walked.
It's sad finding bees on the ground because usually by then they're at their last hours of life. She was one of these. From the way she was struggling to even walk I could tell her time was near an end.
I picked her up. The least I could do was put her on the landing platform near the hive. Maybe from there she might make her way back inside. At least she could spend her last bit of time with her hive mates.
I was astounded at her condition. This bee could certainly tell some stories. She had bits of grit dug in around her compound eyes and head. Her fur, what little she had left on her body was wet and plastered to her. The surface of her black thorax was all pitted and no longer smooth. If only she could talk to tell of her journey of her trials and joys. How many flowers did she visit in her lifetime?
Her abdomen was no longer furry or fuzzy, her toil in the fields would have worn away the fuzz of a young bee. Instead her black stripes were very prominent against her golden yellow ones, darkened with age.
It was growing darker, on a rainly overcast day. I wished there was more light so I could see her better and get a decent photo. She looked like she had only one antennae. Maybe the other was plastered to her head from the rain. It was obvious she'd been caught in a rain shower, that would account for all the grit attached to her body. I imagine the rain would have pinned her to the ground. She was too weak and unable to fly home so she walked.
She came home. Once last time.
I set her on the landing platform and she stayed there. She didn't try to go inside the hive but instead turned to face outward to the world beyond.
Somehow that seemed to be the right thing for her to do.
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8 comments:
Wow, that's sweet - brought a tear to my eye almost!
What a lovely, piece of writing; yet so sad. Why, I wonder, did she not want to enter?
A very touching picture painted here, Brenda.
I haven't seen a dying bee ever go back in the hive or try to. Often if they have some mobility and I set them on the platform they walk right off it. I think they know they're done for and so opt to die outside.
Sorry about my calling you Brenda! I meant Barbara of course.
Apologies.
I could imagine it all coming to pass. Your write so well. I am sure she had a good bee life.
Hey Barbara! Wonderful piece of writing. I had a simular experience today, moved my hive a few feet to install a metal two hive stand, and I found one on the ground, she was lame with a back leg problem. I picked her up and put her on the hive top, I just couldn't leave her on the ground. I am sure she ended up in the grass again..but I felt better trying to put her back with something she is familiar with. Again, your post was excellent, very touching.
Mark - At least we try to help them out. Sometimes they rest there and are able to fly away and sometimes not.
Phil - no worries calling me Brenda. The other favourite name people like to call me is Deb - and I answer to both!
Deb eh? I thought Babs might also be a shortened name for Barbara. Barbara Windsor is often called Babs.
Perhaps 'Honey' as well? No, best stop now...
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