Wargh. Just woke up from fever dreams in which I was arguing about the relevance of Nietzsche to unarmed combat with Ari. Not sure what to make of that, but I decided that my rambling, disconnected state of mind was the perfect time to post a bit. Hurrah for heat exhaustion/dehydration!

I look awful, by the by. Not just the crusty eyes and gaping mouth, but beaten up -- which is perfectly accurate, since I got jumped yesterday. I took one on the chin that's making me look like Bruce Campbell, and a shot near my eye is promising to turn into a really excellent shiner. There's another lump on my head the size of a... well, traditionally one should say "robin's egg", but it's more hummingbird sized. Thank you, hair. I'd say that you should see the other guys, but they were all girls, first off, and secondly, they're all dead. This is not my fault; they came at me with knives. In their defense, I suppose I should mention that I was breaking into their house to rearrange things a little.

Yes, clever ones, I have a beehive (Roald Dahl's English/Boxing teacher's remarks, which stood for both disciplines: "Punches slow and easily seen coming" may be relevant to this post. In my defense, I am creaky and stupid). Yesterday I gave it its two week inspection, and I'm sure that you will be ecstatic to learn that the queen, whom I did not see, is nevertheless breeding like a nun of London. From little dots at the bottom of their hexagonal homes to curling larvae to etiolate miniatures, I have small creatures in every state of development.

I feel shockingly affectionate towards them. Everything Kate has said is true, except that my French was a little ruder after they got near my swimsuit area. Thank heaven for Villon's vocabulary. And, "docile", quotha! It's easy to call them docile from twenty feet off. But they are engaging little creatures. I like them not some much individually, but as a collective. I think of the hive as a sort of companion, and it's easy to spend an afternoon just watching it guard and forage.

Pleasantly, I am not alone with my ignorance. A real beekeeper came by yesterday as well. His name is not Max, but that's what I'm calling him. He is a smart, cheerful Armenian and has kept bees for years. He was kind enough to take me down to see his hives.

The difference between what a newcomer and an experienced beekeeper can see is remarkable. He was checking for queen cups, in hopes of preventing swarming. But he walked me through the hive frame by frame. I was particularly impressed that he handled the frame with neither gloves nor smoke, and was wondering what his secret was when he said a word I do not know but am unlikely to repeat in mixed company. "Dey got me," he explained, showing me his thumb. "Now I smell like dey want to sting me. What a deal."

It was, however, not against him that their wrath fell but against me. This seemed (and seems still) rather unfair. But a little smoke sent them into their hive to gorge themselves, and we were soon peering at frame after frame again. Max could tell the young bees from the old. "Dey look bewildered," he said. I suspect him of punning.

He told me that the honey flow was starting, and that we needed to get some supers on a hive quickly. "Sometimes dey will fill up a super in one, two days. What a deal!" We shall follow his advice.

It's always a pleasure to watch someone competent and confident go about his business, so it was with renewed enthusiasm and humility that I waved good-bye to Max and started to put on my own equipage. From what followed I am tolerbaly sure that I have more to learn about how the veil works.

The stings, though, just add piquance to the endeavor. It is completely worth it, to answer Voracious Reader, for the pleasure of interacting with and working alongside such an alien earthly creature. Even if they produced neither honey nor wax I should enjoy their company. Bees have been everything to everyone from amazons to a symbol of pioneer frugality. I'm doing my best to anthropomorphise them as little and as pleasantly as possible. Reading Fabre helps. Reading Maeterlinck does not. I myself shall conclude with a selection on bees from T. H. White's Book of Beasts, as a reminder to remain credulous:

They are skilled in the art of making honey. They live in definite houses. They build their homes with indescribable dexterity, making them out of various flowers and filling innumerable cells with woven wax. They have kings. They have armies. They go to war.

Bees flee from smoke and are irritated with noises.

I promise that I am reading real books about beekeeping as well. They're just not as quotable.

(Interesting typos in the writing of this post: "prefectly curate", "ronin's egg", "little rudder")