Ellie has an interesting relationship with bees. While she absolutely loves honey delivered in all forms—in her warmed morning milk, in flavorful sticks, over lightly buttered toast or yogurt—she still brings up a day (
two years ago mind you) when she was stung by a rogue bee on the playground.
The fact that she can recall, with great clarity, a moment that happened when she was just three amazes me. I can barely recall what happened yesterday let alone a seemingly benign event in 2005. But I suppose your first bee sting is something that sticks with you. It's shockingly painful and, more often than not, completely unprovoked.
My first bee sting occurred when I was about 12. I am surprised I made it so long before a bee encounter. I was at my Aunt's house eating lunch at the picnic bench with my cousins. I seem to recall brushing something off the back of my neck and
jolt! The little bugger stung me. So far, I think I've only ever been stung one time other than that. Something having to do with leaning back in some clover and crushing a wee bee with a big stinger. He gave me something to remember him by before he went to the big hive in the sky.
So I guess after thinking it over, it's not surprising that Ellie's bee incident left a indelible mark. One that's caused her to question the relationship between people and bees. But nonetheless she still seems smitten by the little buggers. Here's a recent drawing of hers (I call it bee art therapy). As you can see, they are happy bees. I mean when you create something as yummy as honey, how can we stay angry with you? Stingers or not.
