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A
very funny but true story............Linda
Herron
Stinging satirical humor...................Beverly
Hopper
A real barn
burner!................................Larry Beckwith
Copyright 1991 by Lynn Mills
All
rights reserved!
Bountiful High, class of 58, Utah
wwindmills@comcast.net
|
Bee Wars
Or
Wanna Bee
Killer Bees
By
Evan L. Mills, (Bountiful high class of 58)
We lived on
42 acres that bordered Main Street
at the south end of Clearfield Utah.
It was a beautiful spring
day. Slightly on the warm
side but
beautiful just the same. The late spring’s
flowers
caressed the
summer
breeze with their fragrance. The squirrels rustled through last years
dried
leaves as they searched for acorns that had been missed the previous
autumn.
The birds were singing as they brought food back to their nests and the
bees
were humming as they carried their sweet nectar from the summers first
heavy
honey flow to the huge and magnificent hollow cotton wood tree that
grew in our back
yard.
There was no sign of problems or of the ominous events that
were about to enter our lives. Certainly there was no thought of the
war
that would
soon escalate and rage over a territorial dispute. It became known
around our house
as, “Bee
Wars! or The Attack of the Honey Bees!” Ah but I am getting a
little ahead of myself. |
"Dave saw the
bee coming and waived his torch at it. Then the unthinkable happened.
Thermo-nuclear war!"
|
There
had
never been any trouble between us and the bees.
Our family used the territory around the old giant cottonwood tree that
stood between our house and the barn. We also let
the bees use it. The bees did sort of annex that territory which had
been ours.
We didn't mind as long as they were friendly. Occasionally when
one of us
walked in
front of the hive opening, which was a hole about five feet up on the
trunk of the tree, a dangerously overloaded bee would be returning to
the
hive at a negligent speed and crash into us. I believe that in every
instance the
irresponsibly over laden bees were able to recover before hitting the
ground. I
hardly think that such minor events would be provocation enough for
them
to start World War lll. It must have been some thing else but for
the life
of me I never figured out what it was. One
day our eldest son was standing behind a branch, well
out of the bees flight path and even out of sight, being concealed
behind a
leafy
branch. All he wanted to do was observe. They must have taken him for a
spy
because without any warning they made an unprovoked attack on the
innocent and
un-armed civilian. They didn’t ask any questions or politely
ask him to
leave.
There were no warning buzz by’s. Just STING! A strong protest
was
immediately
lodged by Dave as he quickly departed the area.
For several days Dave
looked at
the world through one eye until the swelling around the other eye went
down
enough to allow him to see stereo again. Not wishing to be intimidated
by this
type of gunboat diplomacy we continued to use the path that passed in
front of
the hive opening in our tall Cotton Wood tree. The bees were now
claiming ridiculous territorial rights of
ten feet around the hive entrance. But by inter-yard law we had the
right of
passage to within five feet of the front of the old cotton wood so we
continued
to exercise that right. There were a few skirmishes but our foreign
policy
seemed to be working.
For a few days nothing serious happened. Then one
day I was walking
our large black dog. I was certain they wouldn’t attack with
that kind of
protection standing by. I was well outside the ten foot territory that
the bees
claimed and even outside their landing approach. The dog and I were
just standing, very
still watching the incoming and out going flights. They must have been
trying
to hide some covert activity. Suddenly Charley, our big shaggy black
dog, snorted
several times and then laid on the ground with his paws in the air and
proceeded to rub the top of his head vigorously back and forth against
the
ground. I had a pretty good idea what had happened and on close
examination of
Charley’s head. There it was! A point zero, zero three
millimeter,
Italian
honey bee military stinger! Definitely an offensive weapon!
Charley lodged a loud
series of protests
which the bees seemed to ignore. There were some tense moments as the
two
powers
were drug to the brink of war! Cooler heads prevailed though and blood
shed was
averted for the time being. In my mind there was little doubt that the
aggression would continue.
Our
foreign policy was being tested and it
was
critical that we did not surrender the area and the right of passage in
front of the old
Cotton Wood Tree. After all the bees already claimed miles of fields in
every direction. Strategically, that pathway past the bee tree, was a
vital link to our barn
and the
pastures beyond We were not about to let it fall into the hands of
the
enemy! Even if the path wasn’t such a strategically valuable
piece of
real
estate we still couldn’t let them have it! Where would it
end? If we
let them
have that piece of ground it wouldn’t be long before they
would claim
the
territory around our house and that would be an intolerable position to
be in.
So the lines were drawn, the ultimatums given and the preparations for
war
began! The bees kept up their aggressive nature with threatening fly
by’s,
buzzings
and stinger rattling.
A last minute attempt at a peaceful
solution was
made
when we tried to get a local bee keeper to intercede and take the bees
to a new
country but he declined, wishing to remain neutral. A few
days later our oldest son, Dave was
again attacked with out provocation! My Wife was in Montana visiting
family so now there was no neutral party to parlay a peace agreement.
Shortly there after we
declared war!
Dave, Dale, our next eldest son, Charley, our big black dog, and I were
allies
and had an un-written treaty that we would all fight together for the
protection of each other. We were greatly out numbered but we felt our
just
cause and superior weapons would make the difference. The first thing
we tried
was a
blockade. The four of us surrounded the tree. Charley jumped up and
down
barking out orders While Dave, Dale and I waived flaming kerosene
soaked
torches at anything airborne and singed the wings off all incoming and
outgoing
flights. There were probably a few innocent flying critters that bit
the dust
that day but this was war! It was gruesome! The bees fought valiantly
and we
had underestimated their resolve. For a while it appeared that we were
winning
but then one of their long range Bee one bombers found its mark on the
very spot
Dave had been stung before. The wound was really ugly this time and we
were
forced to retreat with our casualty.
Later we counter attacked with
plaster and
torches. Dale and I kept Dave covered while he plastered the entrance
shut.
Soon there were tens of thousands of bees trying to get in and no doubt
just as
many trying to get out. To all appearances we had won the war! That
night we
celebrated and basked in our victory. We recounted exciting battles,
told stories of
brave
acts and related heroic deeds. The victory was short lived however. The
next
morning spies, Beverly and Linda our daughters, informed us that some
time
during the night the bees had secretly dug a new tunnel at the base of
the tree
and even as we spoke they were re-supplying their base. The flame
throwers had
failed and soon the war escalated to a new low. Chemical warfare. We
used
chemical agents that were designed to kill flying insects. Pardon the
use of
the term, insects, but feelings were strong at this point and the use
of
unflattering terms was common. The death rate was high from the
chemical
engagement but by the next day the enemy appeared to be as strong as
ever. It
soon became apparent that the offensive was not going well for the
allies. We
had to do something fast or all would be lost! We would be forever
dominated by
the bees!
We
didn’t want to go nuclear but there was
little else we could
do at this point. We still hoped to avoid an all out nuclear strike but
hope was fading fast. Dave kept the bees busy at the upper main
entrance
which the bees
had reopened, while Dale and I planted the charges in the ground level
tunnel.
We loaded the tunnel full of Calcium Hydride which when wet produces
Hydrogen and Oxygen in perfect ratios to create a highly
explosive atmosphere! This was our hydrogen bomb!
We only
intended to use it as a last resort. Soon the charges were set and the
garden
hose was put into the tunnel and sealed with rags. A raised hand was
the signal
and the water was turned on. Water could be heard streaming into the
base of
the tree. Then the hydrogen gas began hissing from every crack and hole
in the
tree. Large volumes of hydrogen gas began venting from the top
entrance. We
only
meant to suffocate the bees. There was no plan to detonate the bomb at
this
stage.
Whether
the bee was only trying to escape the gas or was
making a suicide run at Dave will never be known for sure. Dave saw the
bee
coming and waived his torch at it. Then the unthinkable happened.
Thermo-nuclear war! There was a brilliant flash and a huge growing ball
of fire turning itself
inside out
like an angry octopus followed by a thunderous explosion! Thousands of
de-winged bees,
honey and honey comb shot from the hive opening right at Dave as though
they had been blasted from a
shot gun. Some of the shrapnel glanced off the top of Dave's head.
Shortly there
after
there was a second explosion and I became a casualty of the war.
Another ball
of fire
spewed out of the ground level tunnel and neatly took all the hair off
my right
arm. Bees were everywhere. They carpeted the ground which appeared to
be moving
because of
the tens of thousands of crawling de-winged bees. The air was filled
with
swarms of bees unable to get back into their smoke filled hive.
Dale
was the
first to notice some thing coming from the top entrance and asked.
“Is
that
steam or... smoke!” “It is smoke!” we
yelled in unison!
It was smoke and it was
increasing in
volume by the minute! Soon large clouds of smoke billowed from the top
entrance
and a terrible sizzling sound could be heard coming from deep within
the tree.
Dead rotten wood and wax honey comb burned furiously inside the old
tree. We
feverishly put the garden hose into the top entrance and tried to douse
the fire
but we couldn’t reach the caverns that were intensely burning
and the
fires raged
unabated deep inside the huge Cotton Wood tree. Now the war was
escalating! It was threatening to involve the
fire
department and probably the police! For a moment I had a nightmarish
vision of
dozens of firemen and police along with crowds of spectators being
attacked by
angry war crazed bees while our beautiful, tall Cotton Wood tree
crashed down
in flames across the barn! Luckily there was a store close by that
carried dry
ice. Soon we had stuffed five pounds of dry ice into the tree. We kept
it
sealed for a couple of days and on the third day we pronounce the fire
out. At
the end of the conflict the casualties were approximately 200,000 bees,
a twice
stung faithful black shaggy dog, a badly abused and scorched Cotton
Wood tree,
Dave with one functional eye, honey and honey comb in his hair and
seven
stings, me with a hairless right arm and Dale without a scratch.
We
can now claim victory
and the right of passage but even so I feel a twinge of guilt when I
freely
tread past the bee tree. As I exercise that freedom I weigh the cost. I
remember how many bees gave their lives trying to preserve their home.
I pause
at the tree with each trip to the barn and thousands of tiny ghosts
haunt my
conscience.
update
November 2006
The house the barn and the
bee tree are now all gone. Only the memories
persist in our minds of the wonderful times we had living on those 42
acres. The memories
of snow covered trees. Of warm summer days. Of crickets and frogs
serenading the night. The family weinner roasts around the fire pit and
the
war! The pastures and fields are now parking lots and stores. People
exit their parked cars and walk over our memories without a clue as to
the drama and romance that lay beneath the black top. Some
people call it progress but I just call it development and leave it up
to you to decide if it is progress or not.....
Lynn Mills, Bountiful High, Bountiful, Utah
class of 58.
email
wwindmills@comcast.net with
coments or questions. I'd love to hear from you!
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