Betsy Beekeeper's Arc

Chapter 3 of 6

Betsy spent three days studying the earthen mound the woman had left behind. She sketched the pink flowers, collected fallen petals, and watched how the blooms opened at dawn. On the fourth morning, she found seven dead bees at the base of the mound. By the end of the week, two of her hives had gone silent. She lifted the first box with steady hands and pulled a frame. Ants covered every surface — black bodies thick as carpet, flowing over the honeycomb in streams. The bees were gone. She checked the second hive and found the same. The ants were coming from the mound, following trails across the grass to her wooden boxes. She could see the cracks in the earthen surface now, wider than before, with dark tunnels branching underneath. Something about the pink flowers was drawing them out, and the ants were taking her hives one by one. Betsy went to her shed and came back with the spray can. She stood at the mound with her finger on the trigger, watching ants pour from the tunnels. If she killed them here, she might save the rest of her hives. But the pink flowers grew from this earth, roots tangled in whatever network the ants had built. Poison the mound and she'd lose the only source of the flower she needed. Her hands didn't shake. She lowered the can and walked back to the shed, leaving the mound untouched. She spent the rest of the day moving her remaining hives to the far end of the field, as far from the mound as her property allowed. The ants could have the two silent boxes. She'd lost hives before and kept working. But now she knew the price of the pink flowers — and she knew she'd pay it. The best honey in the world didn't come from playing it safe. It came from keeping your bees alive long enough to find out if the risk was worth it.