Chapter 8. Bee logs and family bonds

Where a stingless bee gets her 15 seconds of fame and two generations see eye to eye

Note: Author commentary at the end of the chapter. This commentary is exclusive to the Cacao Muse; you won’t see it on Amazon, my author site, or printed inside the wrappers of my favorite chocolate bars.

After lunch, the heat of the day slowly ebbing and stomachs replenished with the bounty of K'aax Itzà’s rainforest gardens and Doña María’s experienced hands, life began to stir about the grounds again. Don Francisco, as was his habit, was the first to return to work. Spotting Max just outside the Great House, he called out to the boy.

“¡Hola Max! ¿Quieres venir con nosotros a buscar avejas?” (Hi Max! Do you want to come with us to look for bees?)

Max didn’t want to miss a thing. “¡Oh, sí, gracias! Let me grab my stuff and tell my mom. Be right back!”

He dashed back to his family’s cabin, but there was no need to request official go-ahead. His father was just stepping out, decked out in his bee researcher’s outfit: safari shorts, khaki shirt equipped with countless zippered, buttoned and velcroed pockets, and field bag stuffed with specimen bottles and collecting kits, honey trail painting tools, pens and notepads, and of course the all-critical field camera.

“Where to so fast, Max? How about a field session with a Maya beekeeper?”

“Yeah, Don Francisco invited me so I wanted to tell mom.”

“She already knows.”

“Oh. But what about my gear?”

“Right here, my man.” Dr. Hammond handed his son his own field bag, all ready to go.

Max grinned at his dad. Dr. Hammond had a way of taking care of all the administrative necessities that lurked beneath the fun of the research trips. It was a skill Max knew he’d have to master before he could strike out on his own.

“Cool, thanks Dad.”

Together, father and son joined Don Francisco—and Juan, who was just arriving. In stark contrast to the Americans, the Maya beekeeper and his son wore simple shirts and pants, and carried nothing but their machetes and mochilas.

Max’s excitement deflated a bit at the sight of Juan.

“Hola Juan,” he said.

“Hola,” came the curt reply.

“Is Itzel coming?” Max turned to Don Francisco hopefully.

“Maybe later,” replied the beekeeper. “She’s helping her grandmother now.”

Max nodded a disappointed okay. He decided he’d still have a great time, annoying awesome-new-friend’s-brother notwithstanding. He loved field sessions. Old enough to understand the importance of his father’s work, interested enough to learn all about local animal, insect, and plant species, yet still young enough not to have to stay for the brain-breaking scientific discussions, Max got the best of both worlds, and took full advantage. Dr. Hammond was certain that was why Max tended to be bored in school, but could not bear to deny his son the opportunity to learn about the world face to face, in all of its exuberant living colors.

The group’s first stop was the meliponario, the traditional bee house of the Maya. The stingless bee version of an apiary, it was of simple construction: hewn tree trunks served as supporting pillars for a palm-thatched roof, and in the center, short, thick logs lay stacked up several rows high on a wooden A-frame pyramid. The ends of the logs were plastered over with clay.

“¡Bienvenidos a la casa de las abejas!” exclaimed Don Francisco proudly. (Welcome to the bee house!)

“We call these ‘jobones,’” he said, patting one of the logs affectionately.

“Outstanding,” muttered Dr. Hammond to himself. In a split second he’d whipped out his camera, taking a few establishing shots of the meliponario.

“But where are the bees?” asked Max. He wasn’t sure what all these logs had to do with his favorite fuzzy helicopters.

“They are inside,” said Don Francisco. “Want to see one? Come.”