Last week a wood box covered with screen and filled with live bees arrived with our mail. Let me say that again just in case you missed it.
Filled. With. Live. Bees.
The Priority Mail sticker was slapped on top, and it arrived like a box or oranges or an overdue notice from the library. To be totally truthful, Kim the mail carrier didn't put the box in a mailbox - she carried it up to the Mercantile porch, very carefully. Since we are the last stop on her rural route, the bees had kept her company all day long.
Inside the box, the dozens of bees were clustered around a feeding tube in the center. There was also a queen bee, safe and secure in her own little compartment. A couple of dozen bees did not make the trip successfully - their little bodies lay on the bottom of the box, quite dead. Oh dear.
Ziggy and April, the bee recipients, were not at home and it was chilly out, so we bee-sat the box in the Mercantile until they arrived home. The room was filled with a low-level hum, a buzz that seemed to creep in through one's pores. It was the oddest feeling. Even better was the reaction when anyone would come in to the room and do a double take.
Hey, what's in the box? Life is never dull here at Dancing Rabbit. So, what's in your mailbox?
