Caleb wrote ALIVE and then, because Walt would have insisted, added the evidence that mattered. They moved through the other hives as conditions permitted over the following days. Some colonies were smaller than he wanted. Others had consumed more food than he expected and would require careful support as spring forage developed. But one by one they showed life, and when the final inspection was complete Caleb could scarcely believe what his ledger said.
All fifteen colonies had survived their first winter. It was an exceptional result, one Walt made clear they should be grateful for rather than regard as a normal guarantee. Some colonies would still need time and attention before they could perform well, and a living queen in March did not prove a strong summer colony. Nevertheless, fifteen had entered winter, and fifteen had emerged alive.
Caleb called his mother from beside the last stand. He tried to sound casual and failed. Martha came outside with Thomas and Ellie, and Caleb showed them the line of entries in his notebook. Thomas read them twice and then looked toward the boxes.
"Well," he said, clearing his throat. "Looks like you gave them a fair chance."
Martha put an arm around Caleb's shoulders. Ellie began jumping in place, asking whether they could celebrate with pancakes even though it was nearly supper. Caleb laughed and agreed immediately. He did not care what time it was. His bees were alive, the snow was melting from Miller's Ridge, and the orchards would soon be covered in flowers.
Two days later he drove to Walt's house with the ledger open on the passenger seat. Walt examined the survival record, checked the comments beneath each colony number and sat quietly for a long moment. Then he said he had lost colonies in most winters of his professional life, even during seasons when he had followed every rule he knew. Fifteen out of fifteen, he told Caleb, was one of the strongest first-year survival results he had seen.
"Don't go thinking you're a wizard," Walt added. "You prepared well, and the winter gave you a little mercy. You'll need both preparation and mercy again."
Caleb nodded, then asked whether they could talk about the orchard. Walt reached for June's notebooks. Neither of them said it aloud, but they understood that the months of patient waiting had brought the boy to the next question in his education. Could the bees he had kept alive become useful, dependable workers in a valley that had almost forgotten how much it needed them?
The first serious discussion about pollination took place at Walt Iverson's kitchen table with four people, three cups of coffee and enough paper to cover the tablecloth. Caleb brought his colony records. Arthur Detweiler brought a map of his orchard and the weather notes he had kept during the previous ten springs. Peter Alden, who had helped introduce them, brought a list of questions from the county extension specialist and a warning that an early bloom could leave everybody scrambling.