I’ve been feeding birds for decades, and they still fly off in fright whenever I open the door or step onto my porch. I don’t mind that, since their instantaneous flight is a survival mechanism.
When I lived in Vermont, we used to feed the raccoons, who would trustingly come right up onto our deck. One even crawled into my lap one day. I do NOT recommend this. When I think of the length of his teeth as he examined my face, I get goose bumps. It was a stupid thing to do. But, like most twenty-somethings, I thought I was invincible.
The sad thing was, within two years those 22 raccoons we’d been feeding on a regular basis were gone. I’m sure that when we taught them not to be afraid of humans, they forgot their instinctive tendency to flee or hide, so 22 Vermont hunters soon sported raccoon tails in their dead animal collections. I regret that exceedingly, because the raccoons were so very trusting.
The bees don’t fly away when I step onto the deck, nor do they even seem to pay much attention to me. But Tuesday I went out there to take out the two screws the H&L Bee Farm guy had used to make sure the lid wouldn’t come off as I drove the bees home.
The bees let me take out the one at the back end of the hive. But when I stepped up to the side, to reach the one on the front edge, the guard bees simply were not happy with me. I got the screw about an eighth of an inch up, and then a guard bee bumped my head.
“Okay, ladies,” I said. “We’ll do this in increments.”
I figure that if I can raise that screw one-eighth of an inch a day, it’ll take me just a little more than a week to get it out.
I’m okay with that. Let them protect their hive. And stay safe.
BEEattitude for Day # 190:
Blessed are those who learn what we try to teach them, for we shall not sting them.
One thing Fran is grateful for right now:
The filtered sunlight shining through the trees as I write.