One afternoon Detweiler stood beside a row of trees and described how his father used to keep three white hives near the creek. He said that on spring mornings the bees had been so plentiful in the orchard that his mother kept the windows closed when she made breakfast. After the colonies died and the boxes were abandoned, the orchard still bloomed beautifully, but the rhythm of the place seemed changed.
"Maybe it's foolish to remember it that way," he said.
"I don't think it is," Caleb answered. "You remember what the farm was like. That's worth writing down."
Detweiler looked at the boy and then toward the shed where the old hives had once stood. He appeared about to say something, but settled for a nod. Caleb did not press him. He understood better now that people sometimes carried loss in the shape of equipment they had stopped looking at.
When the first substantial bloom opened, the bees were ready. Walt and Caleb inspected the candidate colonies and selected eight that met their agreed standards, leaving enough healthy populations at the Voss farm to continue development and production. They prepared the transport under appropriate conditions, secured the equipment and coordinated the delivery so the colonies could settle at the orchard with minimal unnecessary disturbance. Thomas drove the flatbed while Caleb rode beside him with the map folded in his lap.
Dylan met them at the orchard with a flashlight and a thermos of coffee. He had volunteered because the work sounded exciting and discovered that much of it involved standing where Caleb told him, keeping the path clear and waiting until the responsible adults were ready to move equipment. He complained that Caleb had become worse than a school principal. Caleb reminded him that bees and excited people were both easier to manage when nobody was shouting.
Detweiler watched the unloading from beside his pickup. He did not interrupt, but Caleb could see him counting the boxes as they were placed on the prepared stands along the orchard edge. Eight colonies stood there by the time the work was complete, their entrances oriented away from the main tractor route and the paths used by the farm workers. In the gray light the boxes looked unremarkable, ordinary rectangles of wood beneath branches beginning to turn white with blossom.
"Those came out of the junk you hauled away?" Detweiler asked.
"Some of the wooden bodies did. Not the living colonies. We started with healthy bees and worked to keep them that way."
"And the old wood is safe?"
"The boxes we used were carefully inspected and refurbished. The ones that weren't safe never went into service."
Detweiler ran a hand over his beard. "You sound like Walt now."
"He says I should write that down as a warning."
For the first two days after delivery, the weather stayed cool. Bees ventured out during the warmer periods, but Caleb could see from his notes that flight was limited during colder, wet hours. Detweiler worried aloud that they had missed the best of the bloom. Caleb went out to examine the flowers and check the forecast, then reassured him only as far as the evidence justified: many blossoms were still opening, and warmer weather would give the bees a better opportunity to work.