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Last year a swarm of bees made a hive in a wall of our house. A local beekeeper removed the bees to add to her hives for commercial honey production. When she remarked that a swarm was the strongest way to start a hive, a wish welled up in me, uninvited. I wanted to start a hive from a swarm. I have learned not to ignore my heart’s desires.

Catching a swarm is a fine idea, but there is nothing you can do to ensure you find one. Although I have kept bees for several years, this swarm was the first I had seen in my life. Undeterred, I bought a second hive so I would be ready. As if on cue, a swarm of bees found me, entering the house through a seam between the brick and the siding.

I enlisted the help of a licensed bee remover to cut through the siding, break off the honeycomb, and remove the bees with a special vacuum. We attached the comb to hive top bars hastily borrowed from a friend, set the bars across the top of a file box, and poured the bees from the vacuum into the box. I covered the box with a piece of old window screen and left it out all night, so any bees out foraging would find the box when they came back. When it rained that night, I ran out and carefully placed an umbrella over the bees to keep them dry.

Anxious thoughts about moving the bees by myself to the extra hive at our ranch disturbed my sleep that night. I got up early and slid the box into the truck while it was still dark. I tried to wrap it in tulle netting for an extra layer of protection, but the netting got all wadded up and the bees started buzzing ominously in the box, so I set it on the floorboard and secured it by scooting the passenger side seat way up to the front to hold it steady.

Driving with 10,000 bees in the cab of the truck overshadowed any need for morning caffeine. I was as awake as I have ever been. With each bump or turn the buzzing started anew, but the bees soon adjusted to the travel and got quiet.

About an hour into the drive I saw the vibrant pinks and corals of sunrise in my rearview mirror. Daylight would awaken the bees’ natural instinct to leave the hive to forage for nectar and pollen. My alertness heightened. I wished I had ensured that the box was sealed under the netting,

A big red ball of sun came up over the horizon. Moments later I heard something bumping into the window. A bee had gotten out. Another bee was walking under the netting, looking for a way out. When I glanced back at the window, there were two bees on it.

My heart rate accelerated. The box was clearly not sealed tightly. If I extrapolated the rate at which bees were emerging I would soon be driving with a cab full of bees. The ranch was still several hours away.

At the next stoplight I saw three bees on the window. Three was too many. I rolled down the window and one bee flew off. The others stayed. I turned down the air conditioning as cold as it would go, hoping to chill them into inactivity. At the next stoplight, there were again three bees. This time none of them flew away when I opened the window. They seemed to be moving slower. Maybe the air conditioning trick was working.

A fourth bee buzzed around the windshield, then settled on top of the rearview mirror. We looked at each other. We were both scared. Both our homes had been damaged. We were both uneasy riding together in the truck. My breathing relaxed. We were not so different. If this small creature could remain composed for a long time in a stressful situation, maybe I could too. My quiet companion perched on the mirror for the remainder of the drive.

At long last I stopped the truck in front of the bee garden at the ranch. It was raining. Rain encourages bees to settle in rather than search for a new hive by keeping them from flying on their move-in day. They stay in the hive, repair their damaged comb, and tend their nursery. Nature seemed to be conspiring with me to get the bees to stay.

I carried the box to the hive, and transferred the comb and bees. The previous night’s storm had gotten some water in the box and a handful of bees had drowned. When I dumped out the drowned bees I noticed some movement. Some of the wet bees were alive. I extended my gloved finger and a bee climbed onto it. I carefully moved her to the hive entrance. I repeated this process, moving a dozen bees from the damp ground to the hive,

Once the new tenants were all neatly tucked in, I loaded my supplies into the now empty file box and walked back to the house. My relief was palpable.

Late that afternoon I unpacked my bee supplies at the house. As I was folding up the tulle netting I noticed a lone bee trapped in the folds. She was moving slowly, but alive. I carried her down to the bee garden and gently lifted back the tulle, as if unveiling a tiny bride at her wedding. She walked onto my bare finger, and I placed her near the hive. Slowly she made her way to the base of the hive, climbed up the side, and disappeared through the entrance.

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