Removed emergency cells appropriately.
Allowed acclimation.
Then gave the queen time.
Several days later, he found fresh eggs.
He smiled so widely Walt laughed.
“You lay them?”
“No.”
“Then stop looking proud.”
But Walt was smiling too.
By midsummer, Caleb was working more than he ever had.
Farm chores.
Hives.
School summer work.
Repairing equipment.
Reading.
He learned that beekeeping was not simply putting bees in boxes and collecting honey.
Colonies had enemies.
Varroa destructor mites became the one Walt talked about most.
Tiny parasites.
Easy to underestimate.
They fed on developing and adult bees and helped spread viruses.
A colony could appear strong in midsummer and collapse later if mite levels went unmanaged.
Caleb learned to monitor rather than guess.
Walt disliked beekeepers who said:
“My bees look fine.”
“That is not a mite count.”
He told Caleb.
Caleb recorded testing dates.
Results.
Actions.
Follow-up checks.
The notebook became less romantic with every page.
Fewer sketches of hive designs.
More numbers.
That was a good sign.
He learned about robbing behavior during nectar dearths.
Small hive beetles.
Wax moths, usually a problem of weak colonies or stored comb rather than some mysterious destroyer of strong hives.
Queen cells.
Swarming.
Nutrition.
Forage gaps.
Water.
Ventilation.
The valley itself changed in Caleb’s mind.
Before bees, he saw fields according to what people grew.
Corn.
Hay.
Orchard.
Pasture.
Now he saw bloom.
Dandelion.
Maple.
Willow.
Clover.
Blackberry.
Basswood.
Goldenrod.
Asters.
The Petrie place had a long blackberry thicket Caleb had ignored his entire life.
Bees did not.
In June, it sounded alive.
He stood beside it with Dylan Kerr, his best friend.
Dylan watched bees move between flowers.
“You've become weird.”
Caleb nodded.
“I know.”
“You know what I noticed?”
“What?”
“I now know the names of plants I used to mow over.”
“That’s your own fault.”
Dylan looked toward the hives.
“So what’s the plan?”
“Keep them alive.”
“That’s it?”
“For now.”
“You collected forty boxes.”
“Twenty-three usable.”
“Still.”
Dylan shook his head.
“You're not trying to sell honey?”
“Eventually.”
“Then what?”
Caleb looked toward the distant orchard hillside.
“Pollination.”
Dylan frowned.
“You rent bees?”
“Basically.”
“People pay for that?”
“Orchards do.”
“Why?”
“Fruit set.”
Dylan thought about it.
“You have three colonies.”
“Four.”
“Big empire.”
Caleb laughed.
“I said eventually.”