UP UP AND AWAY!: Grandpa's funeral

My grandfather died a couple weeks ago. He was 91 years old and very sick. I played fiddle and read this story at the funeral.

Grandpa Bee
When there was no one else to watch us kids grandpa would look after us. He’d let us kids eat bowls of vanilla ice cream for breakfast and taught us how to make toasted cheese sandwiches:

“If you kids want gilled cheese just toast the bread in the toaster and melt the cheese in the microwave. It’s just like grandma’s,” he’d say. We tried it, but it definitely tasted different then the grilled cheese sandwiches that gram normally made.

On warm afternoon grandpa and I would check on the honeybees. His blue ranger pickup truck, which he never drove over 25 mph, would rattle on our trip to the beehives. The bees loved grandpa and they never stung him even though he refused to wear the white beekeeping gloves. The bees merely rested upon his large course hands and, after realizing whom they belonged to, would fly away to find more flowers. I was terrified of being stung. Grandpa realized my uneasiness and a mesh covered hat and long thick gloves were purchased to cure my fear. Before my first beekeeping lesson grandpa lowered the tailgate of his truck and I sat as he showed me the proper way to wear my bee-keeping suit,

“Gosh darn things. What are these strings for? Tie it around your waste like that. Yeah, sit still while I fasten it. This new hat ain’t worth nothin’.” Orange pieces of bailing twine were rescued from behind the seat and grandpa tied them around my ankles to keep the bees from crawling up my legs. Gunner, grandpa's Australian shepherd, was left tied to the truck as we tended to the hives.

Grandpa grinned as we pushed the rocks off each hive and lifted the lids. The buzzing grew louder and bees swarmed around our heads wondering who was disturbing their busy day of collecting pollen. As we examined the bees more closely grandpa taught me about each member of the hard working bee family:

“See Russell. Them with the yellow balls on their legs are pollen collectors. Bees fly miles a day to get pollen. The ones standing outside are guarding the hive. There! see that one, it’s a scoutin’ bee….” Grandpa’s excitement grew as we got closer to the center of the hive where the queen bee and her helpers lived:

“They’re all working hard for her. See Russell. Their fate depends on her and she depends on them. They all need each other, they’re family.” After spending a few hours looking after the bees grandpa helped me remove my bee-suit and we drove back to his house for a dinner made by grandma. He smoked his pipe on the way home, which filled the cab with sweet tobacco smoke.

“Russell, that is the best bee beehive we’ve ever had.”

Since growing up I’ve realized that the my family works a lot like the bees grandpa and I took care of when I was a teenager.

We have many jobs. We are fisherman, teachers, receptionists, bankers, writers, farmers, fathers, mothers, daughters, and sons. But, more than anything, we are the members of the same family and we need each other. Grandpa was the one who taught us how to depend on each other and, while he isn’t around anymore to be the center of our clan, we will continue to work together as a family. I loved my grandfather and whenever I see a bee I will remember him and laugh. Even though grandpa and I spent hours taking care of the honeybees, we never harvested a drop of honey.