PROPHET OF DOOM

Maybe not always a bad thing...

RUN!

You can probably outrun them, but whatever you do, don’t just stand there. And never, ever flail your arms around. Doing that just makes them angry. Don’t bother jumping in the pool; they will just wait for you to come up for air, and then you’ll really be sorry. Just keep running. You might have to keep running for three miles, but it’s better than the alternative.

The alternative was death.

Running from Killer Bees!

My husband was giving me instructions about what to do if the bees we discovered under the corner of our roof came out and swarmed around me. I listened to his advice but not really believing that I would need it. He’s always one to point out possible danger. Whether from a wild animal, a natural disaster, or a crazed maniac on the loose, he wants to be one step ahead of them all. I’ve gotten used to his gloom and doom over the years.

Like every time we go to the ocean, he warns us about bull shark attacks, and every time we go the lake or the springs, we take turns being “on watch” to search the waters for alligators. When we were hiking in Arizona, he warned of the Western Diamondback Rattlesnakes. Hiking in Utah gave him the opportunity to alert us to the possibility of a black bear attack. I’ve been trying to convince him to return to the Grand Canyon, where we had an amazing family vacation when the kids were little. I remember how breathtakingly beautiful it was. He remembers that the static electricity that caused our daughter’s hair to stand on end can kill you.

So today, when he was giving me instructions on how to outrun the bees, I may have nodded my head in agreement, but I was sure I would never need his advice. Besides, the bees were honeybees! I was more concerned about saving the bees and wondering if we could harvest their honey. Maybe we could relocate the hive to our backyard. I was envisioning a new business venture that was sure to succeed … Stephanie’s Local Honey. While I was touting the health benefits and potential profits of my idea, my husband had done some research and contacted the “bee guy.”

For two weeks, we waited for the specialist to come and end our stalemate. I wanted to be prepared for my new business adventure, so I began construction plans for a backyard beehive box. My husband continued his research and envisioned himself as the neighborhood savior. He announced, “You may not be saved, but I can still save the others!”

And guess what …

They were Africanized honeybees! The deadly kind! The killer bees you see in those cheesy horror movies!

Well, SNAP! My husband was right! I couldn’t believe it. Bee specialist Steve said the hive was one of the largest he had ever seen. He estimated it weighed close to thirty or forty pounds! The bees were sure mad when he cut a hole in the soffit and exposed the honeycomb—they did not want to give up their queen. I felt sorry for bee specialist Steve. He got stung a number of times, even though he was wearing a special protective suit. And yes, he did run when the bees were swarming around his head, but just to the corner.

My husband has been vindicated, and I am not going to have a niche honey business. I just might have to accept the notion that perhaps he really is a prophet of doom.