Last night was beekeeping night.  It was a busy day in school.  I got up just after six and rushed about in my usual morning fashion.  There is a difference in this morning style that is only a recent development; in the blur to get out the door in good time I now do something against the grain.  I stop and have a little chat with the little man. He is usually up before dawn and talks to himself or makes strange noises.  In these little morning chats I lose the sense of time or the time to care for leaving.

The first jobs on the list in school is breakfast and coffee.  Sometimes it is a tall americano and sometimes it is pure double espresso, these are  a measure of the day’s tasks.  Yesterday was a long day and by the time I got home, it still had wonderful things to unfold.

I got home in time to grab a dinner and spend a half hour or so with the lovely Sharon and the little man.  We played in the baby gym and had tickles and cuddles and laughs.  We gave the little man his first book to peruse; ‘fuzzy bee and friends’.  He seemed initially quite interested, but soon his enthusiasm translated into trying to shovel the literature into his mouth.  Thankfully Fuzzy bee seems designed for such things and one of his friends has a crinklyness that has captivated the little man.

When I drove to the beekeeping class the air was strangely clear.  It was as if the air was made of crystal or nothing at all.  In class we learned about how to manage the bees through the year.  We learnt of their needs and monthly desires.  Most importantly we learnt some basic details of inspecting the hive while maintaining a minimum of antagonisation to the bees.  This is, of course, a thing that will have to be played out in practice and is purely a thing of experience.

When I left the course the air could not have been more different.  The air around the college had turned from spring clarity to a think dark fog.  The night had dropped and the temperature had been dragged down with it.  Visibility was reduced to only and handful of meters rendering driving slow.  It was a contrast that I found beauty in.  I loved the contradiction and loved noticing it.

When I arrived home I discovered that the lovely Sharon had been holding her own beekeeping class.  She was a narrator to a class of one and the lesson went as follows…

“Hallo, Piglet,” said Pooh.

“Hallo, Pooh,” said Piglet, giving a jump of surprise.

“I knew it was you.”

“So did I,” said Pooh.

“What are you doing?”

“I’m planting a haycorn, Pooh, so that it can grow up into an oak-tree, and have lots of haycorns just outside the front door instead of having to walk miles and miles, do you see, Pooh?”

“Supposing it doesn’t?” said Pooh.

“It will, because Christopher Robin says it will, so that’s why I’m planting it.”

“Well,” said Pooh, “if I plant a honeycomb outside my house, then it will grow up into a beehive.” Piglet wasn’t quite sure about this. “Or a piece of a honeycomb,” said Pooh, “so as not to waste too much. Only then I might only get a piece of a beehive, and it might be the wrong piece, where the bees were buzzing and not hunnying. Bother.”

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