The sun was already warm on the grass when Ottoline Frost unlocked her⏎
shed. She had kept bees behind the old stone barn for 22 years.⏎
August was the month she liked best, because August was when the jars got⏎
filled. Ottoline had promised him this Tuesday back in June,⏎
and she keeps her promises. Her apprentice came up the path from Marrow⏎
Lane with a notebook. Jem was 15, and this was the first harvest he had⏎
watched from start to end. Jem looked at the empty jars waiting in rows⏎
along the bench. Was this really the morning, after all those weeks of⏎
waiting and hoping? "We're doing it today, and I'd say the weather has⏎
kindly agreed to help," Ottoline said. She handed him a clean white suit,⏎
a tight-fitting veil, and a pair of soft gloves. The smoker took a while to⏎
light, as it always does on a damp morning. "Smoke doesn't hurt them at⏎
all; it only makes them think about dinner," Ottoline explained.⏎
Jem wrote the time at the top of a fresh page: 7 in the morning.⏎
The two hives stood at the far end of the garden, close under a hedge.⏎
Ottoline called them the near hive and the far hive, and never mixed the⏎
two up. The far hive had felt heavy all summer, and she had guessed why⏎
weeks ago. The sun-warmed lid came off slowly, and the smoke drifted across⏎
the top bars. Ottoline drew out 6 full frames, one at a time,⏎
and brushed each one gently. Every frame was capped with pale wax,⏎
smooth and dry and faintly sweet. "Hold it by both ends and keep it level,⏎
or you'll lose the lot," Ottoline warned. Jem held the first frame flat and⏎
found it far heavier than he had expected. A full frame weighs about 2.5⏎
kg, and six of them soon make your arms ache. They carried the wax-capped⏎
frames into the little kitchen behind the barn. Ottoline slid a⏎
long-handled knife under the caps and lifted them off in sheets.⏎
The smell filled the room at once, sweet and grassy and faintly like⏎
apples. What a smell that small kitchen had by the middle of the morning!⏎
The extractor was older than Jem, and its handle had been mended twice⏎
already. Jem loaded two frames into the drum and pushed the heavy lid shut.⏎
"I'd turn the handle slowly for the first 12 turns, then faster,"⏎
Ottoline called over the noise. Jem counted under his breath and wondered⏎
how long the first batch would take. Did the drum always start this slowly,⏎
or was he turning the handle badly? Then the honey flew outward,⏎
ran down the metal walls, and gathered in a pool. "It takes as long as it⏎
takes, and I've found that hurrying only spills it,"⏎
Ottoline added. When the last frame was empty they opened the tap and⏎
filled a wide bucket. Ottoline set the bucket on the scale (the same one⏎
her own teacher used) and waited. The far hive had given them 19.4 kg,⏎
which was more than either of them guessed. Nobody had expected that hive⏎
to be quite so generous in a single August! Jem wrote the figure down⏎
twice, once in the book and once on his hand. The near hive came next,⏎
and its frames looked thinner and paler in the light.⏎
That bucket settled at 11.2 kg, and the kitchen went quiet for a moment.⏎
"That's a fine morning's work for two people," Ottoline said,⏎
looking up from the scale. Jem pulled a three-legged stool to the door and⏎
worked the difference out slowly. Both hives had given 6 frames each,⏎
so the two numbers were easy to compare. The gap between them came to 8.2⏎
kg, which Jem underlined twice for safety. Shared across the frames,⏎
that was about 1.4 kg more from every single one. Why would one hive beat⏎
the other by that much in the very same month? "Walk down Marrow Lane and⏎
you'll find your answer standing quietly there," Ottoline said.⏎
At the bottom of the lane, about 40 paces from the far hive,⏎
stood four lime trees. They had been planted 30 years before,⏎
in a neat row, by the woman who built the barn. In July the limes had⏎
covered themselves in small green flowers, and the lane hummed.⏎
"Bees will fly 3 km if they must, but they'd much rather not,"⏎
Ottoline said. "The far hive sits closest to those trees,⏎
so its bees didn't go far," Ottoline told him. The near hive faced the open⏎
field, where the flowers had finished early in July.⏎
Every trip a bee saves is a trip it can spend gathering instead of flying.⏎
Over a month of heavy flowering, that small saving turns into a bucket of⏎
honey. Jem looked from the trees to the hives and back,⏎
and at last he saw it. They strained the honey through a fine cloth and⏎
left it to stand. The bubbles rose to the top in a pale line,⏎
the way cream sits on milk. After lunch they began filling jars,⏎
with Jem holding and Ottoline working the tap. Each jar takes about 480 g,⏎
so the counting went quicker than he had thought. They filled 63 jars in⏎
all (nine short of last August) and set them out in rows.⏎
"That's 30.6 kg out of two plain boxes of wood," Jem said,⏎
staring at the table. Ottoline gave him two jars to carry home and a blank⏎
label for each one. "Write the year on them, and the name of the hive,⏎
or you'll forget," Ottoline told him. They washed the extractor and the⏎
knives while the kitchen still smelled of flowers. Jem filled in the⏎
hand-written record properly: date, weights, jar count,⏎
and weather. At the bottom of Jem's page he added a short note about the⏎
four lime trees. Ottoline read it over his shoulder and told him it was a⏎
very good record. "Next spring we'll plant two more limes at the top of⏎
Marrow Lane," Ottoline said. Jem asked whether the trees would grow big⏎
enough to matter in his own lifetime. "Trees are slow and bees are quick;⏎
they'll manage between them very nicely," she said at last.⏎
By 5 that afternoon the jars had home-made labels, and the shed was tidy⏎
again. Jem carried his two jars home along the lane, past the four quiet⏎
lime trees. Next August he would know exactly what to write,⏎
and exactly when to begin!