Melissa and the Bee
You can call me Buzzby Berkeley. We bees have no need for names, but we do recognize each other. A bee knows the smell of her fellow workers, the sound of their wings, the particular way each one moves through the air, and the pitch of their buzzing sounds. Each has a unique set of traits. Names are a human invention, one they need because they do not have our exquisite attention to detail. I have made up names for the purpose of this story. The first name is obvious, but the second is not named after the director of musicals. No, it is for the philosopher Bishop Berkeley who actually pronounced his name “BARK-lee.” I know what you are thinking. How would a bee with a brain the size of a grain of rice know about philosophers. Well, you would be surprised by what we know. But I don’t have the time or patience to explain it here. My purpose is to merely document my last day on Earth. I’m about to die now, so let me start before it’s too late.
The first thing to know about worker bees is that we live about 6 weeks. The wings are the first to go. They get tattered from the constant flying we do. Eventually they will not work and a bee that can’t fly isn’t going to last long. We become the target of predators since we can’t run very fast. I was working in my part of the hive when Bea flew in beside me.
“It’s a fine day,” she said. “You can smell the pollen from the dandelions a mile away. I hope you are not going far from the hive. Those wings of yours won’t work much longer. You better stay close to home.”
“Actually,” I said, “I’m hoping to fly to the pine cone forest and look for Melissa.”
“Who is Melissa?”
“This girl I met a few days ago, just a child, but with such a love of nature and all its creatures, even us.”
“A human who likes us, does not swat us away or spray us with insecticide?”
“That’s right. She let me land on her arm and crawl up it. She knew I would not sting her. She understood we only do that when our nest is attacked. I felt such a sense of warmth and love as I crawled up and felt the warmth of her skin and the softness of the hairs on her arm. I want to go back and feel that again before I die.”
“Do you know where to find her?”
“Yes. She is always in the pine cone forest when the sun is directly overhead. I will find her or die trying.”
“You cannot possibly be thinking of flying all the way to the pine cone forest.”
“I can.”
“You can barely fly to the other side of the hive.”
“That is an exaggeration.”
“You fell into a sunflower yesterday.”
“I was pollinating it.”
“You were lying on your back.”
“It was an unconventional pollination technique.”
Bea shook her head.
“Buzzby, you're dying.”
“I know.”
She didn't answer. For a moment, neither of us spoke.
“Good luck, Buzzby. I hope you’ll find her and find peace in her loving embrace. I know I speak for the hive when I say you will be sorely missed.”
When the sun was overhead I set out to find Melissa. It was a long, dangerous journey. I could not maintain much altitude after a while and began to fly low to the ground at a slower speed. This was dangerous as it increased the probability of getting picked off by a bird or some type of predator leaping out of the high grass. A gust of wind periodically blew me off course. I was about to give up, knowing if I landed I would probably not have the strength to generate the wing speed needed to take off again. Then at last I saw Melissa. She was picking dandelions and blowing away the seeds. I buzzed by her head two times to get her attention. She spotted me and giggled. I landed by her feet. It wasn’t intentional as my wings finally gave out. I started walking and she put her finger out so I could walk up into her hand.
“Miss bee, you have come back to me. I see you walking so I guess you cannot fly anymore."
"I will take care of you,” she said.
Melissa picked up a clover and gently laid me on top of it. Then she took another clover and covered me on top. She gently put me on the ground while she dug a hole in the earth with her finger, and carefully placed the makeshift coffin in the hole. She must have thought I was gone because I didn’t have the energy to move. But I felt the warmth of the sun and a gentle breeze as the earth began to cover me.
“Rest in Peace,” she said as she walked away with a tear in her eye. She took a few steps, hesitated, and walked back. Then she picked a daisy off the ground, placed it over my grave, and looked down as though in prayer. After a moment, she whispered, "I hope someone is missing you."
The first thing to know about worker bees is that we live about 6 weeks. The wings are the first to go. They get tattered from the constant flying we do. Eventually they will not work and a bee that can’t fly isn’t going to last long. We become the target of predators since we can’t run very fast. I was working in my part of the hive when Bea flew in beside me.
“It’s a fine day,” she said. “You can smell the pollen from the dandelions a mile away. I hope you are not going far from the hive. Those wings of yours won’t work much longer. You better stay close to home.”
“Actually,” I said, “I’m hoping to fly to the pine cone forest and look for Melissa.”
“Who is Melissa?”
“This girl I met a few days ago, just a child, but with such a love of nature and all its creatures, even us.”
“A human who likes us, does not swat us away or spray us with insecticide?”
“That’s right. She let me land on her arm and crawl up it. She knew I would not sting her. She understood we only do that when our nest is attacked. I felt such a sense of warmth and love as I crawled up and felt the warmth of her skin and the softness of the hairs on her arm. I want to go back and feel that again before I die.”
“Do you know where to find her?”
“Yes. She is always in the pine cone forest when the sun is directly overhead. I will find her or die trying.”
“You cannot possibly be thinking of flying all the way to the pine cone forest.”
“I can.”
“You can barely fly to the other side of the hive.”
“That is an exaggeration.”
“You fell into a sunflower yesterday.”
“I was pollinating it.”
“You were lying on your back.”
“It was an unconventional pollination technique.”
Bea shook her head.
“Buzzby, you're dying.”
“I know.”
She didn't answer. For a moment, neither of us spoke.
“Good luck, Buzzby. I hope you’ll find her and find peace in her loving embrace. I know I speak for the hive when I say you will be sorely missed.”
When the sun was overhead I set out to find Melissa. It was a long, dangerous journey. I could not maintain much altitude after a while and began to fly low to the ground at a slower speed. This was dangerous as it increased the probability of getting picked off by a bird or some type of predator leaping out of the high grass. A gust of wind periodically blew me off course. I was about to give up, knowing if I landed I would probably not have the strength to generate the wing speed needed to take off again. Then at last I saw Melissa. She was picking dandelions and blowing away the seeds. I buzzed by her head two times to get her attention. She spotted me and giggled. I landed by her feet. It wasn’t intentional as my wings finally gave out. I started walking and she put her finger out so I could walk up into her hand.
“Miss bee, you have come back to me. I see you walking so I guess you cannot fly anymore."
"I will take care of you,” she said.
Melissa picked up a clover and gently laid me on top of it. Then she took another clover and covered me on top. She gently put me on the ground while she dug a hole in the earth with her finger, and carefully placed the makeshift coffin in the hole. She must have thought I was gone because I didn’t have the energy to move. But I felt the warmth of the sun and a gentle breeze as the earth began to cover me.
“Rest in Peace,” she said as she walked away with a tear in her eye. She took a few steps, hesitated, and walked back. Then she picked a daisy off the ground, placed it over my grave, and looked down as though in prayer. After a moment, she whispered, "I hope someone is missing you."
This made me cry! I was sniffling toward the latter part of the story, but totally lost it with that last line. It was such a beautiful and touching story - leavened with humor: "It was an unconventional pollination technique.” Such a gentle and well-told tale, in contrast to the harsh world we live in today. Loved it!
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