Unclocked

In the final hour before Trinidad's orthopedic appointment, my yard vibrated with the harmonic resonance of many, many hands helping. An NVC student of mine bent to earth with buckwheat seeds for the sowing. A three year old neighbor took our water wand to the lettuce bed. My eldest son and his seven year-old friend picked a panoply of green leafy weeds from the garden to make "rabbit salad," and three more children, aged 4-8, sat down on the deck to sort garlic into piles by size in preparation for braiding.

I looked at the clock: 30 minutes to departure by bicycle to the fancy new skyrise across town. Hmmm. Time to check the bees? No snacks had been packed, no faces washed, nor shoes located. Two families of children and one adult would need to make their transitions homeward in those final minutes. Still, the flow moved me; honey called.

Turning my back on the clock, I swept up my hive tool, brush and bee veil under one arm. Those not engaged in Serious Work watched me light up the smoker and wove themselves into the story of the bees in summer harvest. Why does the smoke calm them? What do the bees do? What will you be looking for? Their wide eyes watched me as I crossed the yard and pried the boxes apart, lifting each frame to measure capped comb. These children have seen our bees emerge for their first spring flights last March, and they will follow the honey flow as it is pulled from the hive next month. Each will go home then with sticky hands and stories to tell.

Parents returned through the back gate and gently collected their children. The bees circled round in seemingly chaotic loops, an insect ballet, each returning to the hive with food for the morrow. All of these circles, sacred, and me, through a beeveil, watching.

I set my tools aside and announced our imminent departure. Another miraculous season well-timed from planting to harvest with little thought on my part, all hands and heart in the working. My boys met me on the driveway with shoes on their feet. I grabbed a water bottle and slipped the afternoon sandwich outcasts into my backpack.

We had twenty-five minutes to bike across town, and we arrived exactly on time.