The six-mile trip home was the most carefully I have ever driven. With just a piece of silver duct tape holding down the lid on each box, I felt for sure I was one hard-hit pothole or taken-too-fast turn away from complete disaster.
At home, I carried each box up the hill to the spot in the back yard where my property meets the neighbors' woods and set them carefully on the wooden stand I had built to receive them.
Next to each box sat a freshly painted wooden box, one blue and the other yellow (because slava ukraini). The following day, decked out in my white jacket, gloves and veil and with my smoker close by, I transferred the residents of the white boxes into their new homes.
With that, I became a beekeeper.
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