Talin Visits Uncle Hilal's Beehives and Tastes Honey From the Comb

Talin loved honey. She loved it on warm bread in the morning. She loved it stirred into her milk at night. She loved it so much that she sometimes licked the spoon three times, just to be sure it was clean.

But she had never thought very hard about where honey came from. It came from a jar. The jar came from a shelf. That was all.

Then one spring morning, Mama said, "Today we are going to visit Uncle Hilal. He keeps bees."

"Bees?" said Talin. She took a small step backward. "Bees sting."

"Bees make honey," said Mama, smiling. "Uncle Hilal will show you."

Uncle Hilal lived at the end of a dusty lane, in a little white house surrounded by orange trees and wild thyme. The air smelled sweet and green and spicy. In a sunny field behind the house stood a row of wooden boxes, painted blue and yellow and pale green, like little houses with flat roofs.

And all around them, there was a sound. A low, warm, busy sound, like a hundred tiny engines.

Bzzzzzzzzzz.

Talin held Mama's hand very tightly.

Uncle Hilal came out to meet them. He was a tall man with a kind brown face, a straw hat, and big gentle hands. "Welcome, Talin!" he said. "Have you come to meet my thirty thousand friends?"

"Thirty thousand?" squeaked Talin.

"In each box," said Uncle Hilal. "Don't worry. They are busy with their work. They are not interested in us, as long as we are calm and gentle."

He gave Talin a special suit to wear. It was white and baggy, with a hat that had a soft net hanging down in front of her face. Uncle Hilal wore one too. Talin looked at herself in the window and giggled. She looked like a small white cloud with feet.

"Now," said Uncle Hilal, "the most important bee rule. Move slowly. Breathe slowly. Bees like a quiet, peaceful visitor."

They walked slowly across the field. The buzzing grew louder. Bees zoomed past, little golden-brown blurs, flying in and out of a narrow door at the bottom of each box. Some of them had yellow lumps on their back legs.

"What are those?" asked Talin.

"Pollen," said Uncle Hilal. "The bees collect it from the flowers. And they also drink a sweet juice from inside the flowers, called nectar. They carry it home in their tummies."

A bee landed on Talin's sleeve. Talin's heart jumped. She wanted to flap her arms and run. But she remembered the rule. Move slowly. Breathe slowly.

She stood as still as a tree. She breathed in, slowly. Out, slowly.

The bee walked a few steps along her sleeve. Its tiny legs tickled through the cloth. It cleaned its face with its front feet, just like a cat. Then it buzzed away toward the thyme.

Talin let out a long breath. "It didn't sting me," she whispered.

"Because you were calm," said Uncle Hilal. "You were a very good guest."

Uncle Hilal puffed a little cool smoke near the blue box from a small tin can. "This tells the bees that we are coming, so they stay calm too," he explained. Then he lifted off the roof, very slowly.

Inside, standing in a neat row, were wooden frames. Uncle Hilal lifted one out and held it up in the sunshine.

Talin gasped.

The frame was covered in a beautiful pattern of tiny six-sided rooms, all the same shape, fitted together perfectly. Hundreds and hundreds of them. Some were shut with a smooth, pale lid of wax. Some were open, and inside them, something shone like liquid gold.

And all over the frame, bees were walking, slowly and busily, touching each other with their feelers.

"This is the honeycomb," said Uncle Hilal. "The bees build it from wax they make themselves. Then they fill each room with nectar. They fan it with their wings, day and night, until it gets thick and sweet. And then it becomes honey."

"They make it all by themselves?" said Talin.

"All by themselves," said Uncle Hilal. "One little bee, in her whole life, makes only about a tiny drop of honey. About as much as would fit on the tip of your finger."

Talin looked at the shining frame, and at all the busy bees, and she thought about the big jar on the kitchen shelf at home.

"Then a whole jar," she said slowly, "needs thousands of bees."

"Thousands and thousands," said Uncle Hilal. "All working together. And all those flowers too. Orange blossoms, thyme, clover, lavender."

He put the frame back gently, a little at a time, so that no bees were squashed. Then he closed the box. The buzzing went on, warm and steady.

Back at the house, they took off their white suits. Uncle Hilal brought out a plate. On it was a square piece of honeycomb that he had kept aside from the week before. It glowed gold in the light from the window.

"Taste," he said, and he handed Talin a little spoon.

Talin pressed the spoon into the comb. The wax rooms broke open, and honey oozed out, thick and slow and shining. She put it in her mouth.

It was the most wonderful thing she had ever tasted. It was sweet like the honey from the jar, but more. It tasted of sunshine and orange blossoms and something green and herby, like the thyme in the field. The wax was soft and chewy, like a sweet little gum.

"Mmmm," said Talin, closing her eyes. "It tastes like the whole field."

"That's exactly right," said Uncle Hilal, with a big smile.

When it was time to go home, Uncle Hilal gave them a jar of honey to take with them. Talin held it carefully on her lap in the car, all the way home, with both hands.

That night, Mama stirred a spoonful of honey into Talin's milk, the same as always. But Talin did not drink it straight away. She held up the spoon and watched the honey drip, golden and slow.

"Thank you, bees," she whispered. "Thank you, flowers."

And then she licked the spoon three times, just to be sure it was clean.