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  • I was not happy with their answers nor their high prices. No, I don't want the bee hive destroyed, I said to the Bee Guy in the Yellow Pages. No, I don't want to kill the bees. With so many hives in decline, poisoning this healthy one inside a huge upturned pot in my backyard wasn't an option.

    My trusty friend Alfredo the gardener came to take my bees. He arrived wrapped in shade cloth rubber banded at the wrists and tied at the neck, without a smoker to anesthetize the bees. He was ready to wade in the Mexican way.

    I watched safely indoors as he overturned the pot while surrounded by a cloud of angry bees. He finally found the queen and moved her and the surrounding comb into big wooden box on the ground. It was a repurposed kitchen cupboard with the door slightly open. Then Alfredo went home but promised he'd be back the next evening to pick up the box.

    At dusk he arrived after all the bees had vanished into the box with their queen for the night. Alfredo crept up and shut the door tightly, then duct taped it closed and carried the loudly humming box out to his truck.

    I was so happy the hive wasn't destroyed by exterminators. They were rescued and moved to where they would be free and protected. The Espino family would enjoy the honey. Their fruit trees would bear more prolifically with increased pollination. Their bees would multiply with time into more hives.

    Alfredo didn't charge me a dime. He was a bee charmer.
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