The not-so-protective husband

by Katie on October 14, 2010

We started the last irrigation on our “fall” sunflowers yesterday.

[I say “fall” because technically, that’s what the calendar says. It’s just not what our temperature gauges are reading.]

We’ve had bees out there pollinating the flowers for a few weeks, and they’ve been quite friendly. They haven’t really been in the way, and we’ve done our best to stay out of theirs.

They’ve been a little low on water this week, though, until it started coming down the ditch last night.

I guess bees get a little angry when they’re thirsty (kind of like me when I’m hungry).

While we were setting up, I was just driving while Brandon got out every 20 rows or so to drop a check in the ditch. On the last one, he came back with a bee stinger in his head, and informing me they were really out to get us.

I didn’t have a cap along, so he instructed me to use a shirt from his dirty laundry (which happened to be riding in the truck with us) to wrap around my head like some sort of turban. At first, I thought this was quite silly, but I ended up being thankful I followed his instructions when I got knocked in the head by an angry bee later (this is known as their “warning” sign, letting you know you have invaded their territory).

Oh, and his other bit of instruction before he left me?

“If you get stung more than once, get back in the truck.”

More than once? As in after I’m stung twice, I can quit? I don’t want to be stung at all!”

He got wrapped up in something else he was saying (probably the whole turban wrap thing), and right before he reached for the door handle, he said, “And remember, if you get stung more than twice, get in the truck.”

“It’s more than twice now? I thought you said more than once! No way am I getting stung three times.”

“Well I’ve already been stung once. You can handle it.”

Apparently he forgot everything he told my dad about loving and protecting me. Emphasis on the protecting.

So, we split up and each us began starting irrigation pipes on different parts of the field. On my second set, Brandon calls. He was in the process of running from a swarm of bees, with three fresh stings. All on his face.

And although he would have you believe otherwise, it really wasn’t as bad as it sounds. From what he first told me, I was expecting his face to be swollen into the shape of honeydew melon and halfway planning a trip to the Urgent Care across the street. Neither of those things happened.

We did, however, leave our water about half-done and plan to get it all straightened out before daylight this morning, in hopes bees are happier, or at least less active, before the sun comes up.

By the way, I escaped sting-free. And started more pipes.

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