A Visit to South Downs

There's a short summary at the end if you're pressed for time.

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I have written of the adventures taken up by my esteemed friend, and often these are written fervently from my notes in an attempt to strike a balance between that which is eloquent and that which I could commit to paper before Holmes could change his opinion. I have no shortage of incredible cases in my notebooks, itching to be brought before the public eye, but alas, those whose reputations upon these notes could ride are too great of persona to endanger.

There has always been, however, one aspect of Holmes's life which he would have no qualms of my writing, although unfortunately it could not hope to be as riveting as those tales of ingenuity and wit which captured the attention of the London public all those years ago. Many times I have been petitioned to reveal more of the current situation of my dear friend, and it is with the hope of securing a better picture of his lot that I found myself on a train to his estate in Sussex, where he has been spending his years of retirement dividing his time between the conundrums of philosophy and the keeping of bees in a dreadfully hermit-like fashion.

I admit myself to be utterly ignorant of any matters pertaining to his rural way of life, and it was with equal parts apprehension and intrigue that I greeted the great detective at his door. I had little to fear, of course, but was quite alarmed when he began immediately to implore inquiries upon me.

"My word, Holmes, I have not eaten a banana, and what should it matter if I have had alcohol?" I had finally exclaimed in defiance of his questioning. I had not been drinking, I proceeded to inform him, but I could not understand why it could be of importance.

His answer did surprise me, and I must say that we have had much too low an opinion of bees. After chiding me for not reading his book, he went on to explain the sensitivity of bees towards all sorts of scents and smells that could come off of a body. "Far be it from my purview to concern myself with your diet, Watson; that is for your lovely wife to watch - do give her my regards, if you could - but the hives have a much more attuned sense towards chemicals than even the best of us."

I expressed my surprise, and Holmes went on to elaborate. "They are irritated by perfumes, colognes - I hope you have not worn any? Good. I myself have taken to eschewing them. The poor bees: intelligent as they are, they have naught but flowers upon the forefront of their minds - should you look like one or smell like one, I guarantee you they shall treat you as one. Will you be wearing gloves, Watson? I do not, but perhaps you would like a pair. Yes, here you are, and veils to protect our faces. Could you man the smoker? Take care that you do not burn them, but the smoke does do wonders to calm the poor things; people say it seems to them that there is a fire nearby, in which case I daresay that they must be scared out of their wits by the frequency of flames in their environment. Well, we are quite prepared, I think! Quiet now, they are gentle creatures, and don't take kindly to gregarious behaviour."

And so, dressed in a disorienting veil and lumbering after Holmes with a smoker in hand, I proceeded to watch as Holmes carefully stood to the side of his hives and inspected the bees. The buzzing was gentle, and I admit myself to have been quite hypnotised by the diligent workers. Unfortunately, so complete was the enchantment that I quickly forgot to tend to my duties, and the buzz quickly grew agitated. Chuckling, Holmes took the device from my hands and waved me backwards, calming the bees by himself and restoring the hive to the state in which he had found it.

It was with good humour that he spoke to me afterwards, asking with jest if it had been an instructive experience. I replied that it had indeed. "Did you happen to see the way they responded to my laughter? No? No matter, we can go again tomorrow, but they became much more weary the moment I opened my mouth. Truly, they are extremely sensitive beings."

As I settled into bed that evening, I found myself thinking back to the bees. Truly marvelous creatures they were, and I had a glimpse of understanding into why Holmes felt content in keeping them in his own isolated little patch of earth. I found myself wishing that I had not opted for gloves, wondering how having one's hand in a fuzzy congregation of bees could feel. It brought slight colour to my cheeks to think of how negligent I had been of my duties, and remembered with intrigue how the bees had retreated so quickly in the presence of smoke, and could not help but brood on how the smoke affected the bumbling animals.

All in all, it was a gentle and peaceful dream, full of friendly bees, into which I drifted.

- Dr. John H. Watson

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The Reading: http://video.about.com/smallfarm/Beekeeping-Safety.htm
Three Things:

1.  How sensitive they are to the things like CO2, alcohol, bananas!
2. Smoke calms bees - that's pretty cool to me.
3. I never knew that some people would go in to work with bees with bare hands. That's amazing.

Looking for Next Time: Going to try and notice their reactions to CO2.
Questions: Does anyone know exactly why they flee from smoke, or what it does to their state? Like, does it calm them? Frighten them? How do the bees feel like??