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Slinging his foot over, he plants his ass in the seat, moving forward to give me room to get on behind him. “Yes, they’re stifling hot on days like this.” His long legs don’t let him sit too far forward which leaves little space for me. Straddling the seat, I’m so close to him my thighs press against his hips. “Put your feet behind mine on the footrest and hang onto me.”
I adjust my feet and bring my hands to his sides, gripping him lightly. “Are you ready?” he asks, tossing a shy smile over his shoulder.
“As I’ll ever be.”
Chuckling, he starts the engine and cruises down the driveway. The wind feels good once we turn onto the street, cooling the sweat on my skin despite our limited speed. The metal trailer rattles behind us. He navigates the corner onto the dirt road, bringing the church ruins into sight from a different perspective. I wonder if he’d mind if I explored them, too?
Thick forest marches past us on my right but it’s the clearing on the other side once we get past the church that makes me sit up straight and crane for a better look. An emerald field of clover appears vibrant against the duller grassy hill behind it. Gorgeous wildflowers spring up alongside the road and overtake the clover until all I can see is an exuberant mix of color. Wow, this was hiding just out of view?
Arlow slows down as the flowers turn back to a mix of clover and grass that’s been recently mowed. He steers us off the road toward three light colored wooden boxes standing in a line. The ATV stops before we get too close, and he kills the engine.
“You didn’t tell me it was a damn fairytale land up here!” I exclaim, climbing off.
“You like the flowers?”
“And the clover, it’s beautiful.”
The biggest smile I’ve seen from him bursts across his face, displaying his teeth. “Clover and wildflowers are beneficial for the hives. The bees don’t have to go far to find plenty of food.” He pulls two white suits out of the trailer and hands one to me. “Slip your shoes off first. There’s a strap that goes under your foot and the elastic should be tight against your ankle.”
The material doesn’t feel as thick as I expected, but it’s crinkly. We both step into the suits and get them zipped up. Before I can reach for it, Arlow pulls the hooded mask up over my head and reaches on either side of my neck, tugging two zippers forward to secure it.
“Are you okay? Not going to get claustrophobic on me?” he asks, his fingers still on the zippers as he looks through the netting. The way the sun highlights his eyes, turning them a light caramel color is distracting. They’re so pretty.
“I’m good.”
“Okay, hold your hands out.” He holds up a long glove and waits for me to slide my hand inside. It almost goes as high as my elbow, where the elastic holds it tight. After doing the same on the other hand, he puts his own hood on and slings a bag over his shoulder.
“Are you collecting honey?” I ask.
“No, it’s hard for bees to survive in this type of heat, so we’re going to help them keep the hives cool.” He picks up a smoker canister and a flat stick. “But first, let’s go have a peek at them.”
The buzzing is louder than I expected when we approach. Arlow stops to light the smoker and nods toward the first hive. “Do you see how they’re congregated around the entrance? That’s what they do when they’re too hot. They gather and use their wings to fan the hive, drawing out the hot air.”
“They’re smart.”
His nod is enthusiastic. “They are. In the winter, they all go inside and beat their wings to generate heat when it’s too cold.”He leads me toward one of the boxes. “Slow movements. The heat makes them grouchy.”
“Got it. I do not want to be on the wrong side of a grouchy bee.” We approach the hive and I catch his arm. “Wait! You forgot your gloves.”
“I don’t wear them unless I’m dealing with an aggressive hive, and these are pretty docile.”
“Don’t you get stung?”
“Occasionally, but the gloves are bulky and make it easier to accidentally smash some of them when I’m removing the cover or frames. When they’re hurt, they give off a warning pheromone that riles up the others to attack.” Smoke rises out of the can, and he aims it for an area around the top, dispersing a small group gathered there. “Bees don’t want to hurt you or attack for no reason. We just have to be easy with them.” He holds out the smoker. “Do you want to help?”
“Sure. What do I do?”
“Just follow along with the smoke while I get the top off.”
It’s easy enough to keep the smoke where he needs it as he takes the flat tool and gently pries around the top of the hive. I can’t help but wince at the sight of them crawling over his bare hands, but it doesn’t seem to faze him. “Okay, step back a little,” he warns. Slowly, he removes the top. It’s a little unnerving once the bees start landing on us and crawling over my face mask, but I’m also fascinated.
“Give them some smoke,” he directs, reaching into the box.
“Sorry for the lung damage, guys,” I tease, and he chuckles.
“Don’t worry. Bees don’t have lungs. The smoke interferes with their sense of smell, so they won’t react to the warning scent.” He brushes a few bees aside with his fingertips and holds up the frame.
“There’s no honey,” I point out.
