Daphne Wilson email@example.com
Mon, Jul 27, 2009 at 3:49 PM
I recently attended the funeral and interment of my uncle. But first I need to tell you about his father, my grandfather. Granddad was known as "Mr Bees" around the city of San Francisco from the 1940's on. Dozens of people not known to the family came to his funeral because he had "rescued" them from a swarm trying to move into their house, or in their house. Granddad died driving his pickup with a load of beehives on board, and the responders had to call in another beekeeper before they could get his body out of the crashed truck.
Fast forward to July 2009. Mr. Bees' son's casket is being lowered into the ground. Fifteen feet away the white-gloved pallbearers have lined up in front of a large cypress tree. Thirty feet away across the lawn is the headstone of my Grandparents. As taps is being played, I look over, and there is a mini-swarm of bees harassing the pallbearers. Afterwards, the tree is checked for a hive, but the gathering of bees is over.
Daphne Wilson firstname.lastname@example.org
Mon, May 10, 2010 at 5:33 PM
On July 27, 2009, I sent you an account of how a swarm of bees "attended" the funereal of my uncle, son of a famous bee man.
On April 7, 2010, my mother, the bee man's daughter, died. The next afternoon, when I got out of my car at her house for the first time since her death, I heard that big buzz. Looking around, I saw the swarm just passing over the house. They didn't stay, ( the swarm at my uncle's funeral also moved on) but those are the only two swarms I've seen in my life. Go figure.