The answer came a few days later at the market. A man named Peter Alden, who operated a small apple orchard north of town, approached Caleb's booth and picked up a jar without examining the label. He asked how many colonies Caleb had, then whether the boy had ever moved bees during bloom. Caleb told him the first number and admitted the answer to the second was no.
"We're having trouble with fruit set," Alden said. "Not every year. But enough. There's an orchard over near Detweiler's place having it worse. The extension people say weather's part of it and pollination might be another part. You think your bees could help next spring?"
Caleb felt the question settle over him with unexpected weight. It was the idea he'd been carrying since the field trip, spoken back to him by somebody who might actually depend on his answer. He could have said yes, could have promised that fifteen colonies meant an orchard full of apples and a new business for himself. Instead, he thought of Walt's questions and the difference between a hopeful result and a responsible commitment.
"Maybe," he said. "But we'd need to talk about how strong the colonies are after winter, where they'd go, how long bloom lasts and what you already have for pollination. I don't want to promise something I can't do."
Alden studied him for a moment, then nodded. "That's more careful than most people I call about orchard problems. Come look at the place before the leaves come down. Bring your notebook."
Caleb watched the man walk away and felt the beginning of a new kind of responsibility. The honey jars had been proof that the hives could produce something his neighbors wanted. The question about pollination was proof that people were beginning to imagine the bees as part of the valley's working farms again. For the first time, the old hive boxes behind his father's shed seemed less like a collection and more like the foundations of a system.
Peter Alden's orchard occupied a slope that caught morning sun and lost it late in the afternoon behind a line of pines. The rows were tidy, but Caleb noticed that some trees were older than the others and that several gaps had been filled with younger varieties after winter damage. Alden walked him through the blocks with a folded map, explaining which trees needed compatible pollen from other varieties and which years had delivered strong bloom but disappointingly little fruit. He spoke like a man who knew his land well enough to recognize a pattern but not yet well enough to explain it.
Caleb asked about the weather during bloom, nearby flowering plants, the timing of sprays and whether Alden had rented pollination colonies in earlier years. He knew enough to ask about compatibility among apple varieties but not enough to make a confident recommendation without help. Alden answered patiently, then brought out a notebook in which he had recorded spring temperatures and fruit set for nearly a decade. The pages reminded Caleb of Elena Reyes's last inspection notes, and he felt again the weight of the things a farmer recorded without knowing who might one day need to read them.