It's springtime in Minnesota, which means walks in the park, new sand in the sandbox, hopscotch on the driveway and (because it's us - and nothing could ever be Brady-Bunch perfect) - a ginormous swarm of 30,000 bees in our crabapple tree.
I didn't make that number up - and according to Rico's friend, the beekeeper, that's playing it safe. A hive of honeybees can hold between 30 to 40 thousand little stingers inside - and of course, they've decided that this summer, the tree above Yoda's new sandbox is going to be the honeybee equivalent of the local Dairy Queen.
I noticed it two days ago. I was on my cell phone picking dandelions (don't get me started - that's another post entirely), when this overwhelming buzzing noise took over. I thought it was the phone.
I also thought Yoda was busy picking dandelions as well - it looked like she was picking dandelions - she should have been picking dandelions - but no. Little miss fear-factor was bending over each flower, reaching out with her tiny paw, coooing "BZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ" and trying to snag wild bees out of thin air a'la Mr. Miagi.
Thank God her Kung Fu reflexes have not fully developed. I'm sure she was hoping to snatch one of these little beauties to present to her allergic father as an early birthday gift.
Anyway, once I realized what she was up to, I looked up. Every single pink blossom on our tree was moving - it was literally swarming with bees. We're talking Amityville Horror proportions. I was sort of waiting for them to start buzzing "geeeettttttt oooouuuuut". But it didn't happen - at least not before I grabbed Yoda and darted into the house.