The Bee Emissary Chapter 4

Mom arrived in Germany but, for security reasons, couldn’t tell us her current location.

Chapter 4

Mom arrived in Germany but, for security reasons, couldn’t tell us her current location. We sent mail to the base in Germany, and they forwarded it. Mom wrote cheerful letters when she had a chance and mentioned her surprise at meeting doctors and nurses whom she had known in Chicago. She emphasized she was safe.

Besides the letters we wrote, Grandpa and I also made videos on our phones so Mom could see us doing well. We bragged about Grandpa’s beehives. We always sounded upbeat despite being concerned for her.

After sending one video, Grandpa grumbled, “I served two years in the military, and it seemed like ten. It feels terrible your mom had to go,” he growled. “I just hope she’s back with us this time next year.”

He had never discussed the military before. When I asked about his service, he responded, “It was dark. That’s all I gotta say.” Then he walked away.

I had asked Grandma about it. All she said was, “It’s not my story to tell. Best to respect your grandpa’s privacy.” I wanted to learn more about Grandpa’s past, but had low expectations.

Summers at the cabin were an excellent time for me when I started driving. Door County was a destination for tourists from near and far, making it ideal for students looking to earn good money. I staggered my work schedule to accommodate two jobs.

This summer had endless sunny days, temperatures rarely crept into the 80s, and had just the right amount of rainfall to keep farmers and tourists happy.

The haze encroaching from the Canadian wildfire proved the exception. The fire’s smoke had descended on northeastern Wisconsin since spring, first as a haze, visible on the horizon, then as a blanket of smoke over the entire county, resulting in daily air quality alerts.

Ridges Sanctuary provided me with my morning job as a nature camp counselor. We should have spent mornings outdoors with the kids, but the smoke irritated eyes, throats, and lungs, forcing us indoors. Air quality alerts continued throughout the summer. Wildfires that burned first in spring continued burning into summer. They burned and burned until there was nothing left to burn.

Grandpa and I shared a love of nature. He could name all the bird species in the region by sight or song. Except this summer, he rarely saw a blue jay or mourning dove. The sparrows and chickadees, once so numerous, used to wake me with their warbling conversations each dawn, but no longer. Grandpa denied the idea of climate change. Of course, I figured he was just ignoring the issue.

On the first day of summer, there was no air quality alert, so we sat on the outdoor swing, admiring the brilliance of a sunset, made intensely red by the air pollution.

“You see how red that sky is? That’s because of air pollution.”

Grandpa just made a sound, “Uh-huh,” and rolled his eyes.

I persisted. “Grandpa, this smoke is playing havoc with the birds’ health and migration. We’ve both noticed how few birds we’re seeing this summer. You know climate change affects the populations of birds and other species. The bird population in the US has decreased by as much as 50% over the past 50 years. Human-driven climate change, with its habitat loss and hotter, drier conditions, is a major factor.”

Grandpa yawned, but then I saw the storm clouds gathering. “Where’d you hear this? At your nature job?”

Grandpa turned towards me, and his eyes narrowed. “Dear god, Robbie.” His tone became louder. “Are you going to go all Greta Thunberg on me?” He harrumphed. “This summer is just a natural variation, not a pattern. What propaganda have you been hearing?” He pointed towards the lake. “For example, our lake levels go up and down in almost an 11-year cycle. You’ve seen that for yourself. You don’t believe your own eyes?”

Grandpa stood unexpectedly, his hands on his hips, his face mirroring the red sunset. “Last time I checked, it still gets cold in the winter and hot in the summer.”

Still not satisfied, he continued. “I’ll tell you something else.” His face glowed like the coils on an electric stove. “Humans have been on this planet for over 200,000 years and survived droughts and ice ages. Don’t give me this bunk about an ecological apocalypse. It’s just some claptrap for some rich guys to become richer.”

He pointed a finger at me. “One more thing. When they detonated the first atomic bomb, some brilliant scientists said the explosion would catch the entire Earth’s atmosphere on fire.” He waved his arms around. “It was supposed to end all life.”

Grandpa looked triumphant as he delivered his final rebuttal in a raised voice. “It didn’t happen!”

He thought he had put the conversation to rest.

I had a different opinion.

My voice remained steady. “I hear you, Grandpa, and agree scientists can be wrong, but they keep collecting data until they get it right.” I inhaled, gathering courage. “The pattern you are looking for is the now-reliable extreme weather events. Almost every night, the news reports on wildfires, record temperatures or heat waves, extremes of flooding in one part of the world, and drought in another.” Grandpa appeared to be cooling off, so I continued, “These extremes are costing lives and record-breaking financial losses.”

I appealed to his patriotism. “You know you’re always talking about national security. Climate security is, in fact, national security. We already have military bases at home and elsewhere vulnerable to flooding or other climate-related catastrophes. It’s prudent to address these issues now, especially since Mom is in active service.”

Grandpa scoffed, but returned to sit next to me.

I continued calmly. “You know, I agree that if the climate changes, we can adapt. Humanity has done that for millennia, but when there were thousands or millions, not billions, of humans on the planet. I want that adaptation to start sooner rather than later to save more lives. I mean, that’s why I’m going to college. It’s my generation that’s going to have to deal with future catastrophes. I want to start now to mitigate — um — to avoid those disasters. Progress will go faster when we all agree there is a problem.”

Grandpa nodded, probably signaling he was more tired of talking than that he had heard me.

Grandpa shook his head. “If we waited for scientists to agree, we’d all be dead. Hell’s bells, the weatherman can’t even get the forecast right.”

Then he said something unexpected. “All those egg-head doctors sure as hell didn’t help your grandma.” With that last statement, Grandpa looked at the lake and appeared deflated. He said softly, “I hope your college doesn’t fill you with more nonsense.”

The last remark stung me. It felt like Grandpa had closed the door to any future discussion about climate change, but he had opened a new door: his anger about the medical care Grandma received.

When I asked about it later, Grandpa said with bitterness, “I can’t understand why she didn’t get diagnosed sooner, when it might have made a difference. I took her to the doctor for every complaint she had. We never missed an annual physical. All the so-called specialists said was, “Well, Lois, you’re getting older.””

“Damn them! She was in so much pain at the end.”

Then Grandpa veered again. “And damn those politicians who got us into Vietnam, Iraq, and the mess we’re in now.”

I never brought up climate change for the rest of the summer.

As the summer drew down, we enjoyed our time together, working on bees, flowers, and cabin maintenance for winter.

Ned took us fishing as the summer came to a close.

Ned Triger retired in Door County at 45, having made millions as a hedge fund manager in Chicago. He was smart and lived off his investments. Grandpa even mentioned that Ned helped Grandma with investments.

I prepared the salmon we caught that day while Grandpa and Ned swapped ever more outrageous stories of life in the north woods.

By summer’s end, I managed to teach Grandpa how to cook. The day before I left for college, he proudly announced, “I’m no longer a work in progress, at least in the kitchen.” He sounded lighter, as if he were enjoying life again.

On the last day of August, I packed up the Bronco and headed to Madison, relieved. We got through the first summer without Grandma. I learned there was more to my grandpa than I ever imagined. He wasn’t only my grandfather; he became my best friend. We’d see each other on breaks, and I’d return to work next summer.

I told Grandpa I planned to major in zoology and minor in environmental science.

Grandpa smiled. “It suits you.”

Grandpa promised to visit me at school. It had been years since he had been in Madison.

Just as I was about to leave, Grandpa reminded me. “Say goodbye to the bees before leaving and tell them you’ll be back.”