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Another bird I already recognize starts to sing. “That’s a grackle,” I tell him. “Grackles are easy to recognize. They sound like a rusted gate squeaking.”
We pause to listen, then he grins down at me. “That’s a perfect description of it.”
“I’m going head-on into becoming a bird nerd. This is your only warning.”
“Just please don’t send your crow army after me.”
“We’ll see.”
One of the trail cameras is right in front of us. Arlow pops off a cover and switches the memory card inside, then starts leading me toward the next one.
“The app will be a lot of fun in the spring, when I can catch them migrating. There aren’t very many species this time of year,” I point out.
“It’ll be interesting to see what passes through,” he agrees. “But if you want more species, I know how to do some bird calls.”
What? “You know how to do bird calls? To attract birds?” Doubt fills my voice. This is one of those times I can’t tell if he’s joking or not.
His face is serious and his voice sincere. “Sure, get your app ready.”
We keep walking as I open the app again, then look over at him. He nods, pauses his steps and pulls in a deep breath. “Hereeee birrrrdy. Birdy birdy birdy! Psspsspss.”
He cracks up when I shove him back. “I can’t believe I fell for that. Asshole.” His laughter echoes through the forest. “Psspsspss. You idiot,” I scoff, laughing along with him.
We stop at the second trail camera, then head over to the beehives, pausing to put on our bee suits. “Is that insulation?” I ask, gesturing to the thick material he’s wrapped around the hives in strips.
“Yes, to help them keep warm. The winters here are unpredictable. We could have weeks of ice and snow, months of frigid temperatures, or it could barely dip below freezing once or twice. I've seen it be seventy degrees on Christmas one year and below zero the next.”
“It’s already freezing,” I point out, and he nods.
“True, which probably means we’re in for a colder winter, but that’s okay. They’re ready.”
“Do you need to open the hive?”
“No, we don’t want to do that and let the heat they’ve generated out. Look.” He points out a couple of entrances where a few dead bees lie.
“Oh no.”
“That’s actually a good sign. They’re active, removing their dead like they should. Come here, I want to show you something.”
When I approach, he takes my hands and presses them on either side of the hive, keeping his hands over mine. A faint vibration tickles my fingers and I’m shocked how warm the box feels under my palms. He beams down at me when I look up at him. “They’re clustered together, vibrating their wing muscles to keep the colony warm.”
“That’s so cool,” I whisper, trying to picture them inside. It’s wild to think about the whole tiny world that exists for them.
“Isn’t it?” The genuine joy on his face is beautiful. I adore that he finds happiness in things like this, how much he loves it.
We check on the other hive, then tuck our suits into his backpack to walk back. At the top of our hill, a spike of panic spears through me, and I grab his hand, pointing toward our houses. “Arlow! I see smoke!”
CHAPTER 27
ARLOW
Thick smoke curlsup into the air from the direction of our homes, and a brick falls into my stomach. It’s too close to be a neighbor down the road doing a controlled burn. Plus, we’ve had rain for days. Everything is wet. Did I leave the heater on in the honey shed? No, I’m sure I didn’t. I was in there the other day and would’ve noticed.
Whatever it is, it’s intentional.
Calli looks at me with wide eyes as I take her hand to run. “Oh god, I hope it’s not your house, your studio,” she gasps as we tear down the hill and into the graveyard.
From this view, I can see it isn’t the barn, and the back of my house looks okay, but the smoke is right in front. It could be the porch, or one of our vehicles.
