My husband does not usually stammer … but I received this call last week.
“Janet, I know you’re busy, but … well … I’ve got a full patient load and can’t get away … and … well, I just got a frantic call from the Greenwood Post Office that my bees are in and our postwoman refuses to deliver them — and, also I need to come get them ASAP, because a few have escaped and they’re flying around the mailroom. Is there any way …”
“Yep, and you owe me,” I replied.
The hubby added: “My bee suit and hood are downstairs.”
“Yep,” I said as I grabbed the apiary gloves and ran out the door (I imagined the Mission Impossible theme song playing in the background).
Hubby’s voice trailing off: “Keep your back windows open, in case any escape in your car while your driving home.”
As I hastened into the post office with my head downcast, I felt like an elementary student heading to Sister James Michael’s principal’s office. Standing in line with my white, elbow-length bee gloves folded over my forearm like a maître d’ table napkin, I looked at the bee propolis-stained fingertips, wondering how many honeybees had come in contact with the them.
Trying to distract myself from the “bee-rating” (pun intended) I expected to receive, I read the posters on the post office wall: “Is your package safe to mail — you could be mailing hazardous materials and not even know it.” I noticed the accompanying pictures of fireworks, lighters, cell phones with lithium batteries and fingernail polish — and was glad there were no honeybees in the photo.
I then read: “Warning: Persons who knowingly mail items or materials that are dangerous or injurious to life, health, or property in violation of 39 U.S.C. 3018 may be liable for a civil penalty of at least $250, but not more than $100,000 for each violation; the costs of cleanup associated with each violation; and damages.”
Starting with an apology for the mailroom disruption that thousands of crated bees can create, I was pleasantly greeted at the post office counter by the smiling worker, who said the bees were no problem at all. He politely offered the use of his dolly to roll them to my car, but I picked up the three small wired boxes attached together with a 1×3 wood handle and carted them to my car.
As I carried the boxed armload of loud, buzzing bees, a gentleman opened the doors for me and when outside, an incoming woman smiled and commented, “that’s an interesting delivery.”
“Honeybees,” I beamed.
“Good for you, she responded, “and thank you.”
Somehow I walked into the post office a villain and left as a hero.
Later that evening, Steve delicately placed the tiny 3-inch screened container with the queen bee and five of her attendants between the frames in the hive. 3000 worker bees were poured over the 10 frames inside the hive. They quickly made themselves at home following the queen’s scent and filtered down through the frames.
Just like they had in the post office, the bees felt out their new surroundings, but this time free to zoom in and out of the hive ready to pollinate like they were created to. They were home sweet home.
