On Easter afternoon we hike past the wild honeybee trees. The bees are busy, in and out, and our grandson Wesley is in awe!
|Hole in oak that leads to wild honey bee hive.|
Then, as we pass the spot where the road enters the forest (where the mission bells are just finishing bloom), we again hear a great buzzing. Looking around, all we see are trees— no bees, no flowers—but looking up! Ah! blooming madrone, coastal oak, bay laurel. There is another world up there, accessible mainly to birds, squirrels, and yes, bees. As my son Jesse comments, when we are quiet enough, we can hear the activities of this other world where honey bees pollinate the forest and make that most mysterious of honeys, the one of whose likes I have tasted only once: dark forest honey.
|Sprinkling of blossoms on the road are a telltale sign of blooms|
in the treetop above.