Bead Again

"Hi Geo."
"Hello Bead, it's been a year since we last talked, hasn't it?"
"Almost, about eleven months. Whatcha makin'?"
"Bead, my hearing has deteriorated this past year. Are you asking about citizens of a Caribbean island nation -- lush topography, reef-lined beaches?"
"I mean, what are you doing with your little watercolor block and paintbrush?"
"Doodling your portrait, Bead. Lookee."
"Wow! I've changed a bit."
"You have. Compound eyes are squinting and your colors are muted. Still a fine-looking bee though."
"Aw thanks, Geo., you almost make me feel young again. What's that noise?"
 

"That's my wife calling me in for dinner."
"Figured it was something like that. Why do human women announce dinner as if it was an emergency?"
"Sometimes it is. But what brings on these questions? You seem more reflective now."
"That's because I'm retired, Geo. A human month equals about 10 bee-years, so I'm way past the century mark."
"Well, gosh! What does a retired bee do?"
"Ask Norma to bring her camera over and I'll show you."

                                     [Normavideo --Bee clip, 8-14-15 https://youtu.be/cOy8DCj6QYs ]

"Bead, that's the same thing you always did."
"Yes, but now I gather pollen just for relaxation, like you still garden after doing it for a living."
"I understand. I did that 35 years."
"That's 42,000 bee-years, Geo. Different reward-system now. You get to enjoy sun-dappled shade under trees planted long long ago."

"That's the perfect time to plant trees, Bead."
"Silly human, go inside now. Your dinner is waiting. It's an emergency!"

Beeing An Individual

I was admiring a zinnia when I heard a tiny, buzzy sort of snore. I leaned closer.

"Hello Bead."

"Huh? Wha? Oh, it's you. Did you call me Bead?"

"Yes, I know you're a bee but my daughter used to call bees "beads" when she was little and I guess it stuck."

" 'Sokay. Charming. I was just resting my eyes. Gimme a moment."

I stepped around the flower bed and admired its progress, but kept glancing back at Bead to see if he was all right.

He fluttered and flapped and propped himself up onto 3 elbows to look at me with sleepy curiosity.

"What?" He said.

"Well, I was just wondering if honey is really bee poop."

"Ha! If it was, we'd teach you how to do it and human cities would smell a lot better. But no, it's an entirely separate process --nothing to do with our digestion. You can see --yes come close, I won't sting..."

You sure?

"Of course! If we sting, we die, a system most conducive to tolerance and pacifism, I assure you. Observe my fur."

"Beautiful."

"Yes, and practical. It gathers pollen from flowers and transfers it to other flowers. No flowers, no horticulture, no vegetation without us furry bees. But that's hardly half our job. We gather nectar to make honey, remember where we got it, then fly it back to the hive to store it in cells. Other bees evaporate its water content down to 18% by flapping their wings, then seal it up to cure for a while."

"To feed us?"

"Secondarily, yes, but first to nourish our young. Not really feeding either, as honey is not digested by anything that eats it, not even humans. It goes right into the bloodstream without modification."

"Wow! Who figured that out, Bead?"

"Well, uhm..."

"Name's Geo."

"Well, Geo., it was really a corporate development. I mean, look at me --yes, look at my head. Do I look like I have enough brains to think that up?"

"I...uh."

"Geo., I'll say it for you: I have a brain the size of a grass seed. It's under this black shiny cap in front of my wings. Foraging bees solve traveling problems every day, visit flowers at multiple locations and, because we use lots of energy to fly, we find a route that keeps flying to a minimum."

"And you say this is due to a corporation consolidating your species? Good heavens, Bead, what of individualism?"

"Geo., the strength of individualism is in taking a nap in a flower and telling the corporation whatever I want. Meanwhile, I get to meet people like you and have adventures on the job. You're human and only beginning to understand the rise of corporate evolution and corporate ultimacy. A million years hence, you too will be snoozing in the nearest zinnia and discussing your private thoughts."

"You mean?"

"Yes, I mean individualism requires no more brain than a grass seed, and maybe someone to call you 'Bead'."

"Instead of bee?"

"Precisely, but tell nobody, Geo."

"I will compose myself in silence."

"Thanks, Geo., silence is good but it's ok to buzz a little bit."

Hi Bead...Bead?

"Hi Bead !"
 Silence.
''Bead?"

"Not Bead," quoth the bee. "Bombus."
"Bombus?"
"Yes, Bombus terrestris, a buff-tailed, Earthly Bumblebee."
"Earthly Bumblebee?"
"Yes, we're essential to many other planets besides Earth. Planets with ecosystems. There's an economy to the universe and we work cheap --Humblebees actually."

"I hadn't heard of Humblebees."
"You'll find it in Shakespeare, A Midsummer Night's Dream, act 4, scene 1: 'BOTTOM:

Monsieur Cobweb, get you your weapons in hand and kill me a humble-bee on the top of a thistle. And, good monsieur, bring me the honey bag. Do not fret yourself too much in the action, monsieur. And good monsieur, have a care the honey bag break not. I would be loath to have you overflown with a honey bag, signor.' "

"So when did you get called Bumble?"

"Well, when you're humble and you see a chance to keep your mouth shut, you do it. Us bees used to audition for parts in plays. We'd get on stage and some director and his cronies would say things like "Ok, so you want to act, eh? Can you make a noise like broken glass?" So, a few hundred years ago, we just told them to go do something they probably did anyway, then we shut up, humbly. No more auditions. Just flower to flower, clumsily at first, bumbley."

"Then Bombus? I learn here!"
"Indeed, but not so far into the etymology as bombastic --even though we fly without regard to aerodynamic lift equations and do so only because it's part of our act --remember, we started out as stage-bees, big enough for audiences to see but lifted by wires and guided by riggers and stage-hands. Should we ever be bombastic, our hot air would escape and we couldn't even handle poppies. Now, if you'll stand clear, I'll inflate myself and ascend."

I stepped back and watched but, ere he flew out of sight, called, "Give my best to Bead and to all a good night!"

He kept his mouth shut.