The Bees

News flash. Bees have very short life spans. Their life cycles vary from a few weeks to a few months. If one of them is lucky enough to be queen, they could live up to two years. But if they are not the queen, they’ll have a very short but productive life. Basically, bees hatch from their eggs, do the thing that they were born to do and leave this world just as quickly as they came in. Their lives are short but fruitful. If you watch the bees live their lives, you’ll see passion and efficiency. You’ll see that the bees love what they do.

The bees come out at our house in late March. The first to arrive are those big bees that buzz like a weed eater and sound bigger than they are. These bees bore tiny holes in the side of our house just under the gutter and zip around the backyard like tiny tomahawk missiles.

Our naive dog likes to chase these bees around the yard, leaping on all fours like an antelope, not necessarily wanting to catch them but to be best friends with them. He tracks them but then loses them. Where did they come from? Where did they go? He’ll quickly lose interest in the bees and carry on with his everyday backyard agenda -  until they meet again.

My wife on the other hand wants nothing to do with the bees. To her, they may as well have been sent from the furthest depths of Hades by the devil himself. Needless to say, she hates bees. Any bees. Even these friendly bees that only want to make a home on the side of our house, flutter their wings loudly and live their lives in the lush wonder of our backyard.

To me, the arrival of the bees signals a new season. I’ll often sit on the couch and stare out the backdoor and watch the bees dart in out and out of view. In these moments I start thinking about all the things that went into hibernation with me during the winter months. I think about the runners highs, running expos and finish lines celebrations. I remember lake days and beaches. Honeysuckle and sun screen. I remember softball, shaded decks, weekend road trips and all the wonderful things that come around in the warmer months of the year. To me, the arrival of the bees strikes up nostalgic memories of warm days past. More so, they stir up a desire to make the most of these new days. The bees remind me that life is short. Make the most of it.

The big bee in my backyard tapped the window like a pebble and I snap out of the haze. My dog, staring out the same window, follows the bee with his eyes. His ears are at full alert and his head whips back and forth with the bee’s flight path. The bee is calling to us both. I look down at him. He’s perched anxiously below the door handle. He looks back up at me with his wide orange eyes. I like to think that we are thinking the same thing. Let’s get out there and pick up where we left off.

Last year the warm days ended in mid October, on a dreary day in Washington DC. I was standing in a starting corral in a rain soaked white sweatshirt that was frayed at the sleeves and neck.  My right foot was in discomfort. Not pain but discomfort. Something was strained. 

To make matters worse, I had eaten something the day before that didn’t agree with me. I visited the port-o-potties no less than ten times before the race and along the race course. My body couldn’t hold the nutrients that it needed so I was running on fumes from the very beginning.

The marathon is hard. It’s meant to be. It’s designed to test your resolve, to see what you’re made of. It’s never easy even if you’re in perfect health. Sometimes your race is full of stops and starts. Sometimes it’s hard to find your rhythm. Sometimes you simply don’t have it. But you keep going because life is short and some things must be finished.

A grandstand full of people cheered for us as we raced up the final hill towards a line of marines that huddled around the finish line. I was beaten that morning but there was something that made me keep pushing. 

You visualize things in training. You imagine that grandstand full of people clapping just for you. You imagine your family and friends there with big smiles on their faces, full of pride. You imagine crossing the finish line with your arms raised and the sun shining down on you like a spotlight and confetti flying all around. These are some of the things that push you through the pain and fatigue.

But in reality, there was no beam of sunlight shining down on me and no confetti. My finish was not glamorous or glorious. In fact I almost threw up on a Marine. I limped across the finish line in well over five hours. And in that moment I knew that winter was close. Spring and summer had come and gone. 

Luckily memories can be as short as north Georgia winters. They’re often sharp and piercing but may only linger for what seems like moments. They’re here today and gone tomorrow.

Towards the end of it’s reign, winter wrestles with spring to see who will be king for the day. After a few weeks and fewer wins, winter submits and the air warms up to a consistent temperature. Tree blooms explode with bouquets of pink and white. Lawnmowers growl in the distance. Convertibles convert. The smell of grilled meat sifts through the neighborhood. 

The bees show up again.

The life of a bee is short. But if they teach us anything, it’s that life begins again. Despite our failures and disappointments, spring will always come. We are all born to do something, to be something. And we were designed to do it to the best of our abilities.