‘She will have to go!’ said one of the arrogant workers, ‘It's the way of the bees.  Someone will have to kill her!’

      ‘Isn’t that a bit drastic?’ said Cari, who had known the queen all of her life.

      The arrogant worker turned and stared at Cari. ‘She is grumpy and ill tempered and if that carries on there will be a swarm. She has to go!’

       Cari knew she had to warn the queen before it was too late.

       Meanwhile, not very far away, a young princess was about to be born.

       ‘She will be our new queen,’ said the arrogant worker. ‘We will call her Myfanwy, queen of our home for waifs and strays.

       It was warm in the hive so some of the workers fanned the comb where the princess lay and fed her drops of royal jelly so she would grow into a queen. Others went in search for the grumpy old queen, intent on killing her. But Cari had done her job well, she had warned the queen and a swarm of bees took her away to a safe place.

       Shortly afterwards, Queen Myfwany was born. She was taken to the throne in a large chamber. The whole hive gasped at her beauty. But one gasped louder than all the others. His name was Lord Garnock the Drone. Queen Myfwany saw the Drone and instantly fell for his charms.

        The young queen was told that she would have to be married as soon as possible. The hive could not survive without children. She asked to see Lord Garnock, but was told he lived in another hive.

        ‘A meeting will be arranged,’ said a worker and away he went.

        It was Cari who took the young queen to meet the Drone. On the way there, navigating by the sun, Cari told Queen Myfanwy the sad truth.

        ‘You cannot go back to the hive unless you are carrying children,’ she said softly. ‘If you are not, they will certainly kill you.’

         The young queen smiled at Cari. ‘They will not kill me,’ she said laughing, ‘I will marry the Drone and have his children.’

          ‘Oh but you don’t understand,’ Cari said desperately. ‘If you have the Drone’s children, then he will certainly die anyway. That is how it is with all Drones. It is the way of the bees.’

          Queen Myfanwy rested on a flower. ‘I do not understand,’ she said sadly. ‘It seems I am doomed whatever I do.’

           Before Cari could answer, Lord Garnock the Drone landed besides them. The queen’s heart raced with excitement. She hardly knew him but they were bound by a love too great to ignore.

           They were married on the flower and soon the young queen was expecting her first children.

           ‘I have never been so happy,’ said the queen to Cari. ‘I have everything a queen could wish for.’

          Cari just lowered her head to hide her tears.

          ‘We must go back to the hive for the children to be born,’ said the queen. ‘Where is my husband?’

          Cari touched the delicate wings of the young queen. ‘I’m afraid he is dead,’ she said sadly. ‘That is the harsh reality of being a Drone. It is the way of the bees.’

          The queen flew in silence all the way back to the hive. Her children were born shortly afterwards. As the bee nurses tended to the young, Cari entered the chamber.

           ‘There is someone I would like you to meet,’ said Cari to the queen. ‘His name is Lord Melkin.’

           ‘But is it not too soon?’ said the queen.

           ‘It is the way of the bees,’ replied Cari, ‘the only way to survive!’

The Bee Boy's Song

Bees! Bees! Hark to your bees!
“Hide from your neigbours as much as you please,
But all that has happened, to us you must tell,
Or else we will give you no honey to sell!”
A maiden in her glory,
Upon her wedding-day,
Must tell her Bees the story,
Or else they’ll fly away.
Fly away — die away –
Dwindle down and leave you!
But if you don’t deceive your Bees,
Your Bees will not deceive you.
Marriage, birth or buryin’,
News across the seas,
All you’re sad or merry in,
You must tell the Bees.
Tell ‘em coming in an’ out,
Where the Fanners fan,
‘Cause the Bees are just about
As curious as a man!
Don’t you wait where the trees are,
When the lightnings play,
Nor don’t you hate where Bees are,
Or else they’ll pine away.
Pine away — dwine away –
Anything to leave you!
But if you never grieve your Bees,
Your Bees’ll never grieve you.

 Rudyard Kipling

If you live in Southern England it is quite possible that the dragonflies you see have travelled at a speed of 20 miles an hour, all the way from Africa. Many of these flighty flying dragons, choose to rest on the pond at our home for waifs and strays.  

      The ‘flying dragon’ prefers clean, unpolluted water in a sunny spot and they seem to like the pile of logs we have compiled for little visitors. They also enjoy a quick sunbathing session on the lily pads that float above the pondweed. And as our garden is home to hundreds of birds, the long grasses and plants around the pond are a great escape from predators!

       It is late in the year now, and autumn is upon us and still there are many jobs in our garden that need seeing to before the weather changes.

       Once again, our home for waifs and strays is a hive of activity with the harvesting of crops still ongoing. The hen houses need re-felting before the rainy season and the summer house most certainly needs a long awaited coat of paint. I almost forgot the grapes, they are almost ready for picking and already taste delicious! I’m not quite sure what we will do with them all but I nothing will go to waste.

       I'm always sorry to see the end of summer but each season brings something different and often exciting. But for now, I shall make the most of sitting by the pond with a cup of sweet tea, watching the flying dragons before they leave.

Not so long ago I found a box of wooden toys hidden away in the attic. They began their lives as a block of ordinary wood, carved out by my father’s clever hands. As I touched the wooded shapes, the memories came flooding back.

    ‘This is perfect for making toys as it doesn’t break easily and doesn’t contain harsh chemicals,’ he once told me. ‘The great thing is they will still be around long after you have finished playing with them.’ And they have!

      I can still smell the oak and pine my father took hours and even days to chisel and shape. He would sit at his bench and smooth the wood like I would smooth the cat. All the while, he chewed on his old pipe, probably one he made himself. Sometimes he would let me have a go and sometimes it would end in tears.

      ‘You’re too heavy handed,’ he used to tell me and he would spend hours talking about when it was once a tree. He would sit there and smooth the wood almost as if he was sorry it had been cut down, which wouldn’t surprise me!

      At the age of ten I knew the names of all the trees in the woods around us and I was taught how to respect them. I remember the story of the Wishing Tree, where people hung ribbons and rags from the branches in the hope that good luck would follow. And the World tree, with its roots in the earth and its branches stretching up to the sky, uniting them together.

       I would sit and listen, my hands tucked in my lap, as my father talked about trees. He talked about folklore and religion and how, in Burma, the Talien will pray to the tree before cutting it down and in Africa, a woodman will place a fresh sprig on the tree before raising his axe.

      These stories were told in the perfect setting of my father’s workshop, tucked away on the edge of a forest. Watching him make me a whistle or a doll from wood was like watching him perform magic!    

It’s late, but not so late that I should be tucked up in bed with a cup of sweet tea but late enough all the same. There are lots of goings on at our home for waifs and strays but there’s always a tale to be told before the lids come down.

      Just moments ago, I stood by a quiet pond where everything appeared to be sleeping, which is quite unusual for this time of day. But I welcomed the silence as I looked up at the starry sky. And it was starry, with a slight nip of autumn in the air.

      ‘But it’s summer,’ I whispered softly, ‘I’m not quite ready for autumn, not yet!’ The tomatoes need ripening and the beans continue to grow, the grapes hang sour in bunches. The lettuce and cucumber still need to be picked whilst carrots and beetroot still cling to the ground. Oh and so much more besides! And walking past the log store reminds me of evenings by the fire, roasting chestnuts and drinking sweet tea. But I’m not ready for summer to slip, not yet!

An apple a day keeps the doctor away, maybe so, but if you were to eat a cupful of apple seeds then you could be in big trouble and it could be time to call the doctor!      

     In ancient Greece, if one was to throw an apple at someone, it was in declaration of their love for that person. But, if the person got highly excited and threw numerous apples back and other ate them, then there could be trouble. You see, the seeds of the apple contain amygdalin, a sugar and cyanide compound called cyanogenic glycoside. Oh, it won’t hurt you in small amounts but in larger amounts (at least a cup full) they could cause adverse reactions. It does, however, take a few hours to work.

      This pomaceous fruit (Malus domestica) is part of the rose family and its wild ancestors (Malus sieversii), can still be found in Central Asia. 

      If you have an abundance of apples and would like to store them, wrap each one in dry paper and place in a single layer in a cardboard box. Keep them in a dark, dry and airy place but remember to check them from time to time and remove the rotten ones. They can last for many months.

       Apples have numerous health benefits, so remember an apple a day could indeed, keep the doctor away!