Tag Archives: bees

How I handled a bee I saw after it saw me: a series of mistakes that led to a strange triumph.

As the air gets warmer and the forest gets greener, it is clear that spring is shaking the forest loose from the harsh, extensive grip that winter sometimes seems to have. It is, generally speaking, a welcome change in my daily forest interactions. The mud from the rain is nice. The air is warm but not wet yet. Trees seem to enjoy it. Flowers certainly do (and you can eat those, which is a bonus).

The forest seems slightly more pleasant in the spring than it does during other times of the year.

Until you see a bee.

I have seen a great many bees in my lifetime, and bees and I generally have an understanding: I will keep sniffing things and ignoring you and you will keep being a bee and ignoring me. It is reasonable to me, and most bees are quite polite about the policy. It is best, for all creatures involved, if we ignore one another.

Today, though, I admit, I failed. I failed to ignore a bee.

I saw the bee.

And then it saw me, its deep, midnight gaze piercing through my very bearness, tearing its way through everything I have ever thought I was. That moment lasted a small eternity, if that is possible. In that moment, I obsessed over the worst possible thing that could happen as a result of this encounter: stinging things. If you have never been stung by a bee, consider your life a lucky, fulfilled one because being stung by a bee might be the worst thing that can happen to anyone who encounters a bee. It is such a devastating, awful event that when a bee stings you, it rids itself from the forest entirely, likely because of the guilt it feels for bringing such terror to another creature’s life.

I did not want to get stung. And I did not want this bee not be a bee anymore (even if it was terrorizing every bit of my sensibilities). I did what any normal creature would do… I yelled at the bee. I was hoping this would scare the bee, but it only yelled back, its harsh buzzing sounds echoing through my fuzzy ears, a shrill reminder of the pain to come after the inevitable stinging.

So… I did what any normal creature would do after yelling at something with no success… I ran at it… In the moment, it felt like the right thing to do. I knew I was much larger than a bee, so I figured it would be terrified of my largeness multiplied by my speed.

It was not.

It hovered above me, as if to mock my grounded paws. It had the high ground (or, air, I suppose) and was surely about to strike. I, again, did what I thought any normal forest creature would do… I closed my eyes and gasped, my mouth sitting wide open just long enough for the bee to fly right into it…

I panicked. I ran. I shook my face violently. And then I spit. The bee hit the ground, covered in my saliva. I felt terrible. What had I done to this poor bee, its only crime being its sight of me?

Its tiny wings fluttered, shook my spit from it, and it unceremoniously took flight. Before I could ask for its forgiveness, it was gone, back in the depths of forest it came from, away from me.

I was shaken by the event. I felt a strange mix of guilt and triumph. I fought a bee, which usually ends with at least one causality, and we both lived to tell the tale. And I think I even won.

I am a bear.

If you would like to try being a bear, why not read some of the bear adventures available on this very site? 

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I am going to pretend to be a bee.

I am a bee (2)

Hello, I am a bee.

Living in the wherever bees live (maybe some kind of flower?) is great, and I have many observations of that environment, including other inhabitants of the same environment and neighboring environments. For example, I, probably, know many other flying insects. Those insects sure are fascinating to me, a bee, and I can relate to them because I, a bee, can also fly and am an insect.

I suppose I do not like dumpsters like most other creatures that exist, presumably. That is probably because I am a bee and bees are small.

Wait, I am a bee, so I am unaware that I am small because something being small is really relative to my size so I guess I am regular sized and maybe something like blades of grass are small?

I am am not small.

I am regular sized.

I have a stinger that I, for reasons that are unknown to me or anyone else for that matter, use to violently humiliate creatures that are much larger than I and were clearly just trying to enjoy a nap in a bushel and I did not mean to get so close to your hive, I am sorry and your stings are not necessary. Please do not sting me, bees. I mean, I should not sting things, me.

I live for a long time because there has been the same looking me going around for a long time so either every other bee looks exactly like I do or bees live for a very long time. I am an immortal bee?

I am a bee.

I like pollen?

Or make it maybe?

I am a bee, and I know all kinds of other bee things.

Like things about flying.

Flying is fun.

I think.

This is not working.

I am not a bee. I am a bear. I really thought that my limited experiences and encounters with bees (all mostly negative, but in my interpretation of their lives I was trying to give them the benefit of the doubt) would be enough for me to understand what it might actually be like to a bee. Upon trying to pretend I am a bee, I am discovering that my knowledge of the creatures is too limited for my portrayal to be at all authentic.

I am not a bee.

I really only understand bees as they are seen by me, a bear. Not even by all bears. Just me. And my experiences with bees have been limited to stings, buzzing sounds that scare me, and layers of pollen that I, admittedly, like to lick the skimming layer of as it gently rests on a still body of water like a puddle. These are mostly negative things with exception to the lovely pollen that also makes me sneeze so it can also be lumped into the bad category, I guess.

I do not want to write off bees, however. Maybe I should accept that, because of the way the forest is setup, bees and I can only, at best, coexist as we retain such a limited scope of understanding of one another.

I will simply have to accept the occasional sting and scary buzzing sounds.

Just as bees will simply have to accept me sleeping in bushels and being curious about their hives.

I hope we can both eventually learn from each other. About each other. I hope we can both not accidentally hurt each other.

I am a bear.

If you would like to try being a bear, why not read some of the bear adventures available on this very site? 

For any questions or comments directed at Bear, feel free to write to him using this email: justasinglebear@gmail.com