The Secret Life of Bees

Tropical Thoughts

Sue Monk Kidd wrote a novel by this name. I have not read it, but in the words of Amazon.com, "In Sue Monk Kidd's The Secret Life of Bees, 14-year-old Lily Owen, neglected by her father and isolated on their Georgia peach farm, spends hours imagining a blissful infancy when she was loved and nurtured by her mother, Deborah, whom she barely remembers."

Now, this sounds like a fine novel. I (or you) might even enjoy reading it. Personally, though, I think I would have a lot more to say about the true secret life of bees.

You see, I currently live in a spacious and comfortable house, in which I have my own bedroom and my own bathroom. As an added bonus, I also have my own bathroom window, including a screen, which looks out into a yard filled with trees of all kinds. We even have our own papaya tree!

The roof of our spacious and comfortable house has a considerable overhang, and by my bathroom window, it is particularly protected by the tree growth. This fact led me to my first discovery about the secret life of bees; they are intelligent when choosing their living space. I have also learned that, when in huge numbers and when packed closely together on their hive, bees look like a furry, moving, brown carpet. Bees' lives also seem to be all about construction and growth. Although they do care greatly about their social time together, they are determined to expand their living space and population, with the end goal of taking over the world.

Yes, I said their goal was to take over the world. Don't laugh; you don't know as much about their secret life as I do. Outside my bathroom window, right now, is the hugest beehive I have ever seen. It would, no doubt, also be the hugest beehive you have ever seen; I guarantee you that. In fact, when the confident, well-equipped exterminator arrived to get rid of it, he refused to do so, and instead, he called his company to freak out about the size of it and admit that he was too frightened to go near it. Its size is quickly gaining on my armspan.

I have also learned that moths and flies aren't the only insects to be drawn to light. Bees, too, have an insatiable hunger for the bright light of my bathroom at night. This requires me to shut my window in the evening hours so that my screen is not writhing with bees if my light is on. Their determination is not to be squashed so easily, however, for if I listen, I can hear them hurling themselves into the glass in their attempts to be one with the light.

Of course, there are those who claim to be comfortable and pleased with the lives of my bees. The men who work around our house, for example, mumble throaty phrases like, "Mmm, beeyootiful hoooney..." while smiling and making those Italian-like kiss signals with their mouths and hands. I roll my eyes, they laugh, and I realize I'm not privy to their innate understanding of these flying honeycombers.

All I know is this: I fear them, they disrupt my routines, and so, I want them gone. I want to be able to frolick in our backyard again! I want not to be terrified that someone might leave a screen door open by mistake! I want not to have to warn the gardener of the potential danger!I want to leave my window open at all times and hear birds rather than buzz! Are these desires too much to ask?!

Please forgive my ranting. We all have our irrational fears, I guess. At least, that's what my roommate says.