It was springtime. The child ran through the clover filled meadows of her grandfather's land. She could feel the wet grass creep between her sandals and the soles of her feet. She always hated that sensation, but her grandmother told her that she had loved the feel of the wet grass when she was young, so she tried to like it too. The land was filled with bees, busily gathering pollen and preparing for their season. Her grandmother gave her an empty mayonnaise jar to catch them in. Together they punched holes in the lid so the bees could breathe once they were captured. She quickly learned the best method for gathering them without getting stung and caught about 20 bees. She became lost in the game until off in the distance she noticed that the family was gathering for the feast. The women had been preparing the meal all morning. She wondered what to do with the jar of bees. No one told her what would happen to the bees once the game of capturing them was over. She was worried that she had killed them. She would ask her grandfather; he always knew what to do.

 

The child ran the length of the field toward her family. Her sandals were now stretched from the damp of the grass and slapped against the soles of her feet as she ran. She hated that feeling too, but she ran faster because she loved to be with them. They were all there: the child's mother and father; her younger sister; the aunt and uncle; their children, the cousins; and the beloved grandmother and grandfather. They were all gathering under the big tree in the back yard that held the old wooden swing her grandfather built. The old table was set up outside and filled with her favorite foods, and the swing was slowly swaying in the typical damp breeze of a Texas spring. She saw her grandfather cranking the machine that would make ice cream for them to be had at the end of their meal. The high laugh of her aunt carried in the breeze, and the teasing taunt of her mother softly followed as they joked with each other. The child loved to hear them together.

 

As she got closer, she surveyed them. Even as a child, she felt tensions in this group that were beyond her understanding; tensions that would confuse her into adulthood. But, for now, she dismissed the feelings of tension she did not understand. This family belonged to her. She burst inside with a pride she took for granted, because she was one of them. She wondered if everyone felt that way about their family.

 

She finally reached her grandfather and, with her guilt now at full crest, asked him:

 

"Papaw, will the bees die? Will they get too hot?" and then, meekly, "Did I kill them?"

 

The old man continued slowly, rhythmically cranking the ice cream machine, carefully surveying the jar of bees with his clear blue eyes that sat in his handsome, red, craggy face and said in his slow, authoritative way:

 

"No, Baby, they won't die. We'll set them free."

 

The grandfather asked the uncle to continue cranking the machine. The uncle made a clumsy attempt at maneuvering to switch places. The old man gracefully made the switch and proceeded to carry the jar to the center of the field. The child followed behind him and watched as he became very still. With the simple gesture of his presence, he commanded her to do the same. She heard her heart beating as she did her best to remain quiet and follow his instruction. He sat the jar on the ground and then lay down behind it, arms outstretched, slowly removing the lid and waiting for the bees to fly away from them. The child watched in wonder, the bees would not dare to sting this old man, and she knew inside that there was nothing her grandfather could not do. He was every kind of hero to her, and the pride she felt for him today, merely being connected to him, would grow as the child grew, and would remain constant throughout her life.

 

When the bees were safely in the distance, the old man lifted himself from the ground with ease, grace, and they started back toward the family. She wanted to place her hand in his, but didn't dare. He was royal, untouchable. They walked back in silence, together, an unspoken bond between them.