Bees Sting

Last summer while walking barefoot on the beach in California, I stepped on a bee.  At first I had no idea what I had stepped on that had caused immediate pain.  I leaned on the professor for balance and lifted my foot.  There was the bee.  It was dead on the beach long before I had come across it.  I carefully removed the black stinger from the wound but it did not help ease the pain.

More than anything I was surprised by how much my foot hurt.  Such a tiny insect and apparently so full of venom.

I was reminded of a summer long ago.  It must have been 1958.  The year before my grandmother Fisher had died.  Probably it reminded my parents of how much older their parents were growing and of their mortality.  We set out for the drive from Ontario to Alberta driving south and through the United States, then back north into Canada again.  Four children and two adults.  We would stop for awhile at night and sleep in the car or in the open.  Muriel and Bob took turns driving.  We all noticed that when Dad fell asleep the car seemed to travel faster with Mom at the wheel.

At one point, Bob pulled the car over and prepared to have Muriel drive.  She has taken her shoes off to relax while not at the wheel.  When she put one of her shoes back on, she cried out.  She shook her shoe over the gravel edge of the road and out came a bee.

I don't remember what happened after that.  I don't know if she got medicine to put on the sting or whether she drove again.  I have no memory of those events, but I remember clearly the message that "outdoors," you always need to check your shoes before putting them back on.