The details were sketchy. In spite of reading and re-reading emails and attachments, I could not find the details; the time and the place. It seemed that they were assumed to be known to everyone but me; the new member of this secretive group. I gave up and sent an email explaining that I was at a loss, then I waited.
On the morning of the meeting I received a reply that included directions. This named road, then that named road, before turning down another country lane before finding a track beside a neatly cut hedge. When I read these I was skeptical that such a hedge could be distinguishable after half an hour’s driving along country lanes. Then I turned a corner and spotted an unusually neat hedge with a lane that took me to the meeting hut beside an old stone castle. I half expected to find someone wearing a red carnation who would hand me a briefcase with the clue to the next part of my adventure.
As soon as I arrived I was welcomed warmly. Slowly, more and more people arrived and mugs of tea and biscuits were distributed. When they stood in small groups the conversation always started with the bees; “How are your bees?” From there the conversations went off along different paths, but one thing was constant; the bees. At one point I veered away from the details of apiculture and opened up a little. In a conversation with one gentleman I revealed that in the winter I forgot all about the bees until, in Spring, I felt the bee fever and they began to occupy my dreams. The man’s face seemed confused and a little shocked. I suspected I had shared too much emotion and he must think me a dreamer and a dolt. Then he stopped me and declared fervently, “No, No, I never forget them in Winter. I can’t stop thinking and dreaming about them all year.” The conversational paths would often come back to one serious point; winter losses. When someone shared news of a lost colony the others would hang their heads in experienced sympathy. A story circulated about someone who knew someone who lost seven colonies. Faces winced along with a sharp intake of breath through teeth, as if they had been revealed the gruesome details of an industrial accident.
When we were all certain that anybody that needed a cup of tea or a biscuit was provided for, we all settled into our seats for a presentation about the rare flora and fauna of the Causeway Coast. It was about then that I realised that these people weren’t obsessed with bees. These people were obsessed with life and the world around them and I felt welcome in such company.
this teacher's life 