I feel the wind of her wings on my cheek as she lands. She walks determinedly, her footsteps and the knowledge of her weapon focusing my attention to my ear. There she stops and buzzes, a special sound, intently rhythmic high-pitched pulses.
I can not understand her.
When I was a child there was an observation hive on a window at school. I loved watching them taxi down the runway tube, exchanging quick greetings as they passed each other, the sudden launch and gentle hover, and the exciting moment of change when they engaged their warp drives.
Today I am watching our two new hives out the study window and that eight year-old inner-trekkie is alight with delight.
(Hazel, me and Iris yesterday, just before we became noobee beekeepers).
We have been reading and training and yet we will never be ready. She did her best but I can not know what she thinks. Without a common language, I have brought her whole whānau and their neighbours to live with me.
With our best intentions, we have made houses for them.
Without negotiation, I brought the hives to the only home she had known and watched the expert moving-in of her family and all their possessions.
We installed the hives in an old chicken coop so no-one (including no dog) can bump a hive while just going about their lives.
With some 1:1 sugar syrup, hope and faith, we opened their doors to let them fly free. Adult sisters poured out of the hives and launched themselves up, clambered through the net and circled above the bee coop, looking down and familiarising themselves with the new place. After a while they were coming and going in a more usual way and all looked well. So I checked the strawberry plants in the bed next-door, which is when she came with the buzz for me.
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