Part 1

Snow and ice covered everything, turning our yard into a magical, glittering world.

With each step, we broke through the ice crust with a satisfying crunch. Little Legs was up to his knees in the snow, red cheeked and happy, despite the cold.

“Let’s check out the bees,” Daddy Longlegs suggested and with no better options, we followed him around the house.  

It was like taking a Sunday drive, one goes along not expecting to see anything but with the secret hope of spotting a loose cow or a car accident, of course, the kind where no one gets hurt.

Where I prepared to see an empty landing board on the beehive, I found a pile of fresh honeybee bodies.

“Oh God,” I cried out for divine help.

They were not yet frozen or covered in snow, so this event, whatever it was, had just happened.

A buzzing pulled me closer, a lone bee made his way out. It pushed past the bodies, stopped at the edge of the mound, and buzzed his last buzz before succumbing to the same fate as his brethren.  

There were more bodies just below the pile-up that made me think of a buffalo herd going over a cliff, one after another. What could have caused this much seemingly senseless loss of life?

After an extensive review of the bee-keeping wisdom on the internet, we concluded that we did not know why they died. The colony may have removed the weaker bees that died of the cold, dysentery from waste build-up, starvation, or mites. There was a reason, but what it was, we would never know.

Nature was cruel and mysterious in her ways.

Part 2

I returned the next day, with Little Legs in tow, to show our respects and clear the ledge on front of the entrance to allow for proper ventilation.

Another surprise awaited us.

The mound was already cleared with just a few bee butts remaining, crumbs that fell from some wild animal’s mouth as it devoured part of the colony.    

I took comfort that an animal was able to survive the cold snap a little longer with this unexpected snack.

Sad to say, that was not the last nor was it the biggest surprise of the season.

Part 3

Just yesterday, we returned with Daddy Longlegs when the weather improved, and the temperature soared to fifty degrees.

Little Legs stomped about, splashing in ice puddles while his parents hovered around the hive.

“Let’s just take a look in here,” Daddy Longlegs said.

“Do you need the smoker?” I asked.

“Not for these sweet bees,” he explained, confident in their relationship.

He was eager to check on them after the disturbing event of the honey-bee pile up, concerned and worried as any bee-daddy might feel.

Carefully, he removed the bricks keeping the lid in place and then the lid. He pulled up a frame that should have been vibrating with life and instead discovered the absence of movement, a waxy void of noise and movement.

The bees were there, clinging to the comb and to one another in lifeless fuzzy masses on frame after frame.

The colony did not survive.

Our world felt sadder and soggier than before as the snow continued to melt.

Little Legs splashed over and surveyed the situation with a knowing nod, “Honey-bees nap.”

Yes, the honeybees nap. All of them.

For a very, long time.

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