|simple life
Time and remembrance AS THE HONEYBEE TAKES ITS FINAL DRINK, BITTERSWEET MEMORIES ARRIVE AND DEPART. by Jim Dodson
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’ve been thinking about time lately. How quickly it comes. How quickly it passes. Like this year, for example, rapidly drawing to close. November is a month of remembrance. We begin by celebrating Hallowmas, the Feast of All Saints known and unknown. In the middle of the month, we’ll remember veterans for their sacrifice, and we’ll wind up November by giving thanks for the abundance of the Earth and ties that bind. The good news this holiday season is that families may finally be able to gather in person to celebrate Thanksgiving and Christmas, though collective reflection upon the millions worldwide who are no longer with us this year reminds us of life’s precious brevity. Speaking of such, the other afternoon, cheered by the sudden arrival of autumn light and a breath of welcome coolness, I noticed a small honeybee having a drink of water from an old bird bath I’ve kept filled on account of our lingering summer. Recently, I placed a circle of small stones at the water’s edge to prevent thirsty bees from falling in and drowning. Until my wife informed me that drowning is a genuine threat to the invaluable life of bees, I never gave passing thought to how a simple drink of water could be so perilous. In ancient times, bees were considered symbols of order and immortality. The wax they produce found its way into candles used in religious ceremonies, and their honey sweetened and preserved food. Coins from the fifth century featured images of bees, held to be among nature’s most magical creatures. Modern science, in fact, confirms what ancient observers
believed about bees — that they have a mysterious yet highly refined way of communicating with each other that enables them to find the hidden nectar of flowers and construct honeycombs from thousands of symmetrically perfect hexagons, mathematical structures reminiscent of the six-pointed stars that form the Flower of Life. “Because bees feed on the nectar of flowers,” writes symbologist Adele Nozedar, “and fundamentally on sunlight, they are agents of transmutation, making something from nothing, mystical creatures that are able to foresee the future.” This belief, she adds, may explain why beekeepers since the late Middle Ages have followed the tradition of speaking to their honeybee hives, conveying news of the household, particularly of births and deaths, and the broader life of the community. Between us, I lost track of time watching this lone honeybee pause to refresh. Either five minutes or the better part of an hour drifted by. The bee was in no hurry, and neither was I, both taking our own sweet time as the clock of another year winds down — though his days are 10,000 times shorter than mine, a bittersweet reminder to get on with things that need to be done. As I watched him hop from stone to stone, I wondered where he might be headed and how much time he has left to fulfill his purpose. A male honeybee lives anywhere from one month to seven weeks, on average, and suddenly it was autumn. I felt a stab of sadness for my thirsty friend, but he rose into the air, hovered for a moment, then flew away. My impression was that he knew exactly where he was headed and why he is here. Isn’t that the southparkmagazine.com | 71
