Read Online From A to Bee by James Dearsley - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: James Dearsley
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something I never knew before. I didn't even realise that trees were a really important part of the honeybee's diet! My only justification was that I haven't any bees yet so next year they will love some new, fresh growth.
  I had got some quotes before Christmas from local tree surgeons which were extortionate for what I saw as a small job: reduce the willow by a third. Looking back on the day, I now realise why they charge so much money. In my infinite wisdom I instead called on Bob, my next-door neighbour, a legend of a man who all men strive to be like. Every weekend he is outside with his chainsaw cutting up wood and alternating every so often with his gigantic axe. His downtime is spent fixing his equally humongous Land Rover with a V58 engine or maybe just tinkering with his runabout tractor (he doesn't own a field but just loves tractors). He goes to the pub for a Sunday afternoon pint at 4 p.m. every week and is the genuine article: a 'bloke'.
  He very kindly offered to help me out as he knew a bit about trees and so he would do the difficult bit â climbing it and chopping it back â and I would do the easy bit, the clearing up down below. It all started well, though Bob started to get 'wobbles' three-quarters of the way up, which put me at ease a bit while doing the real job of raking up the fallen branches.
  Anyway we made good progress and got most of the job done before Bob could go on no more and it was getting dark. He did work ridiculously hard. So 90 per cent of the tree is now cut. If the bees are quick, they might still get something. I put some money behind the bar at our local pub for Bob's 4 p.m. pint by way of a thank you and now I just have to finish all the tidying up.
  Willow is not the easiest thing to tidy up. As soon as it sees a bit of open, bare skin, it decides to whip you â invariably across your cheeks. Not exactly a pleasant experience especially as there is so much of it. I hope I survive the clear-up without too much pain. Bob, chainsaw in one hand, other manly equipment in the other, sloped off to the pub and a nice open fire. I gently put my rake in the shed, sat in its doorway, looked up at the stump of tree and, while having a cup of tea, contemplated the honeybee and the fact that I had just said goodbye to their spring forage. Sorry, bees.
  It was only then that I saw Jo carrying Sebastian out of the front door, woolly hat firmly in place as it wasn't exactly warm outside. As she turned to walk towards me sitting there with my cup of tea, I could see Sebastian wildly gesticulating towards the front gate. It became apparent given the very evident noises of a chainsaw that he was making, along with his frantic waving as he approached the gate, that it was Bob he was after as he walked down the road in the general direction of the pub. Fathers with rakes just don't cut the mustard against neighbours with chainsaws, even to toddlers. Having my last, slightly cold sip of tea, I went to join them bidding Bob farewell.
FEBRUARY 16
It was a proud moment for me today. I returned home from work and as I opened the door to the house I could see Jo and Sebastian waiting for me at the top of the stairs. Jo had a lovely smile on her face and just said, 'Go on Sebastian, what noise does a bee make?' Sebastian looked up at Jo a little bemused as if not sure what was being asked of him. You could then see a little light bulb moment as he turned to face me. A little discernible 'buzz, buzz, buzz' came out of his mouth and his face lit up with a gigantic smile. Funny, isn't it, how small things can make a parent so proud; here was my sixteen-month-old son making a buzzing noise and no matter how bad a day I might have had I now felt on top of the world. I rushed up the stairs to give him a great big slobbery kiss and a longer tickle than normal.
  Something else happened today: Steve Freeman wrote back to me, and I now feel incredibly
  I had got some quotes before Christmas from local tree surgeons which were extortionate for what I saw as a small job: reduce the willow by a third. Looking back on the day, I now realise why they charge so much money. In my infinite wisdom I instead called on Bob, my next-door neighbour, a legend of a man who all men strive to be like. Every weekend he is outside with his chainsaw cutting up wood and alternating every so often with his gigantic axe. His downtime is spent fixing his equally humongous Land Rover with a V58 engine or maybe just tinkering with his runabout tractor (he doesn't own a field but just loves tractors). He goes to the pub for a Sunday afternoon pint at 4 p.m. every week and is the genuine article: a 'bloke'.
  He very kindly offered to help me out as he knew a bit about trees and so he would do the difficult bit â climbing it and chopping it back â and I would do the easy bit, the clearing up down below. It all started well, though Bob started to get 'wobbles' three-quarters of the way up, which put me at ease a bit while doing the real job of raking up the fallen branches.
  Anyway we made good progress and got most of the job done before Bob could go on no more and it was getting dark. He did work ridiculously hard. So 90 per cent of the tree is now cut. If the bees are quick, they might still get something. I put some money behind the bar at our local pub for Bob's 4 p.m. pint by way of a thank you and now I just have to finish all the tidying up.
  Willow is not the easiest thing to tidy up. As soon as it sees a bit of open, bare skin, it decides to whip you â invariably across your cheeks. Not exactly a pleasant experience especially as there is so much of it. I hope I survive the clear-up without too much pain. Bob, chainsaw in one hand, other manly equipment in the other, sloped off to the pub and a nice open fire. I gently put my rake in the shed, sat in its doorway, looked up at the stump of tree and, while having a cup of tea, contemplated the honeybee and the fact that I had just said goodbye to their spring forage. Sorry, bees.
  It was only then that I saw Jo carrying Sebastian out of the front door, woolly hat firmly in place as it wasn't exactly warm outside. As she turned to walk towards me sitting there with my cup of tea, I could see Sebastian wildly gesticulating towards the front gate. It became apparent given the very evident noises of a chainsaw that he was making, along with his frantic waving as he approached the gate, that it was Bob he was after as he walked down the road in the general direction of the pub. Fathers with rakes just don't cut the mustard against neighbours with chainsaws, even to toddlers. Having my last, slightly cold sip of tea, I went to join them bidding Bob farewell.
FEBRUARY 16
It was a proud moment for me today. I returned home from work and as I opened the door to the house I could see Jo and Sebastian waiting for me at the top of the stairs. Jo had a lovely smile on her face and just said, 'Go on Sebastian, what noise does a bee make?' Sebastian looked up at Jo a little bemused as if not sure what was being asked of him. You could then see a little light bulb moment as he turned to face me. A little discernible 'buzz, buzz, buzz' came out of his mouth and his face lit up with a gigantic smile. Funny, isn't it, how small things can make a parent so proud; here was my sixteen-month-old son making a buzzing noise and no matter how bad a day I might have had I now felt on top of the world. I rushed up the stairs to give him a great big slobbery kiss and a longer tickle than normal.
  Something else happened today: Steve Freeman wrote back to me, and I now feel incredibly
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