The Bee Emissary Chapters 7 & 8

I got a phone call from Grandpa weeks before I graduated.

Chapter 7:

I got a phone call from Grandpa weeks before I graduated.

“Robbie, I just read an article about the Anthropocene Age and the golden spikes.” Grandpa took a breath. “Not the golden spike used to unite the transcontinental railway in the 19th century, mind you. These golden spikes show how human activity changed our planet by altering carbon, nitrogen, and methane levels.”

“Right.” I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. Now, who sounded like a professor? “Let me sit down.” Robbie sat at his dorm room desk, eager to listen to what Grandpa had to say. “So, what are your thoughts?”

“I know we’ve discussed whether human activity is changing the climate. Putting that aside, our list of successes impressed me; cleaning up our water and air worldwide.” Grandpa began speaking excitedly, making him more out of breath. “By God, we saved the ozone layer, protecting us from damaging sun’s rays, by outlawing chlorofluorocarbons. It makes me optimistic that we can improve the planet when we work together. We just need to agree on how.”

I paused, thinking of our past discussion on climate change. It never occurred to me to talk about environmental successes instead of future catastrophes. I smiled, grateful that Grandpa still had much to teach me.

It felt good to have a serious discussion about the climate with Grandpa. “You know, we talk a lot about those studies in my classes. I’m optimistic, too. We can have more environmental success. Solar and wind energy can meet our electricity needs while gradually reducing our reliance on fossil fuels. We can use methods to sequester atmospheric carbon dioxide, a leading greenhouse gas, and keep our planet cooler. We can reduce the amount of methane released from natural gas wells. Let’s not lose heart. We have time. I believe we have time. We can adapt and invent our way out of this.”

Grandpa sighed. “We’ll know in the fullness of time.”

Grandpa attended my graduation at the end of May. I was the second member of our family to get a college degree, my mom being the first. And I was debt-free thanks to working summer jobs, part-time as a university lab technician, and scholarships.

My senior thesis was on climate change and the preservation of pollinators. I handed Grandpa a copy of my bound manuscript just before my graduation ceremony and invited him to read the second page when he sat down. In my acknowledgments, I let my grandpa know, in my way, how much I loved him.

I dedicate my senior thesis to my grandpa, Bob Apoidea, the great apiarist, for my love of nature, especially bees. Grandpa’s hard work tending bees during the changing summers convinced me that intelligent climate change mitigation works.

At the end of the ceremony, I briefly chatted with my thesis advisor, Dr. John Carlson. My senior thesis and work ethic impressed him. He asked that I apply to graduate school in Environmental Science and become his graduate student. I couldn’t believe my good luck; I could attend graduate school with all expenses paid.

I met Grandpa for dinner. The Ovens of Brittany overflowed with graduates and their celebrating families. Befitting an occasion of this magnitude, we each ordered steaks. Grandpa even ordered a glass of wine, a rare event. I shared my good news over key lime pie, which each of us ordered for dessert.

“Robbie, that’s great. When will you start graduate school?” Grandpa’s face fixed into a smile, but his voice betrayed an uneasiness.

“Next fall,” I reassured Grandpa. “I’ll still spend the summer with you.”

I changed the subject. “Hey, how are the bees?”

“Well,” Grandpa paused and collected his thoughts, “The hot and dry weather has been challenging. The colonies seem to survive. Despite repeated watering, the plants don’t flower at the right time or at all. I hope the bees are getting enough nectar and producing enough honey. I’ve been a little afraid to check.” Grandpa sounded tired and short of breath.

Grandpa left for Door County after dinner. I followed two days later.

Chapter 8:

The summer of 2028 was the hottest and driest summer in Door County and the United States’ history. Wildfires in the U.S. joined those in Canada to create the poorest air quality ever recorded in the Midwest. Every day, the air quality was hazardous. I rarely worked. Grandpa and I only worked outside for short periods, and only if we wore masks. I could see that Grandpa struggled with the heat and air pollution. Last winter, doctors diagnosed him with atrial fibrillation, controlled by medication if he remembered to take it. By summer’s end, I broached a thorny subject.

It was an early August evening. Grandpa was sitting at the dining room table. The sun illuminated him through the picture window. I chose my words carefully, studying the lines on his face as he perused his magazine. I sat down at the table but hesitated to start what I knew would be a hard conversation.

“Hey, Robbie, what’s up?” Grandpa looked up from his reading. His wire-rimmed glasses perched on the tip of his nose.

“Not much. But there is something I want to discuss.” My face expressed concern.

Grandpa put down his magazine and looked at me.

“Grandpa, would you consider moving in with me?”

Looking down at the table, Grandpa asked in a low growl, “What do you mean?” He paused and took off his reading glasses. He looked at me, and his eyes widened in understanding. His voice rose. “Do you mean Madison?” Grandpa’s face reddened. “What, do you think I can’t care for myself?”

I could see the storm clouds gathering. I took a deep breath and continued. Sitting opposite Grandpa, I reached across the dining room table for his hand, which disappeared under the table. I pulled my hand back and straightened up. I cast my eyes slightly downward and wondered how Grandma would handle this.

“I see you struggling. It’s not just age and health; it’s the heat and the air quality. You told me about the Peshtigo Fire of 1871. Northern Door County was lucky to avoid that disaster. But the risk of a wildfire today is even worse.”

Grandpa’s face didn’t soften. He flashed lightning from his eyes.

Grandpa stood up, crimson-faced, looking frail and shorter than I remember, and raised his voice. “Come on, Robbie. Scare tactics aren’t going to work. I’m not leaving my home.” He picked up his magazine and headed for his bedroom to read.

Afterward, there was never a good time to discuss moving to Madison again. I endured a constant chill indoors despite the record-breaking heat of August. Grandpa stubbornly intended to stay, no matter what.

When I packed up to leave for graduate school, Grandpa brought up the subject of moving.

“Robbie, I’ll be fine. I just got things I gotta tend to.”

“Like what?” I held his hand this time.

“Who’s going to care for the bees and the house? What if the furnace goes out in the dead of winter? Everything would freeze. I’d have to redo the entire plumbing. I also promised Ned I’d look after his place after November.

Grandpa abruptly turned away, and his voice cracked. “And I can’t leave Lois. Haven’t I given up too much already?”

I hugged him, letting him keep his tears private.

After a minute, his voice became steady. He turned toward me. “If you’re worried about me, I’m a phone call away.”

“Yeah, true.” I understood, but I wasn’t happy.

Grandpa waved to me as I backed out of the driveway. I smiled and waved in return. Just as I reached the road, I had a strange thought: what if this was the last time I saw Grandpa?

I took a final, lingering look at Grandpa—flannel shirt, overalls, white beard, and wire-rimmed glasses—then waved goodbye from my car.