Day Sixty: An Attempt on a Rainy Day (Part One)

Last night, I lit a beeswax candle with great interest. The flickering candlelight and the wafting scent soon made me drowsy. I can't even recall when I fell asleep, but fortunately, I woke up at some point and extinguished the candle. Had I forgotten, I can't imagine how much precious beeswax I would have wasted, all of it so hard-earned. Luckily, I woke in time. There was barely any noticeable decrease in the beeswax—just in time.

As I predicted, today's weather had turned gloomy. By rights, it shouldn't be early, yet when I looked outside, dawn had not fully broken. When I opened the door and stepped out, the rain had not yet begun, but it wouldn't be long. All my preparations were done, but there were still two things I needed to do before the rain started.

One thing had weighed on my mind for days: whether the bees, whose honeycombs and honey I had so greedily taken, still remained, or if they had abandoned their hive; or worse, whether they had died because of my plundering. I didn't know, so I decided to check and see for myself.

Of course, I hoped they were still thriving in the hollow of the dead tree, so they could become my long-term partners. But reality is often contrary to our wishes, and until I saw the situation with my own eyes, I couldn't help but feel anxious and uncertain. I had no foundation for confidence—I had never harvested honey, never kept bees... But I was nearly there, so there was no need to let my imagination run wild.

To my relief, I saw a swarm of bees busily coming and going at the entrance of the hollow. My worries melted away at once. Seeing so many bees meant they hadn't left. If they were still here now, they likely wouldn't move away. As long as they settled down, I could return for more honeycombs in the future. The thought made me burst out laughing.

But my laughter was cut short—not because I didn't want to laugh, but because there was no time for it. I saw a small cluster of bees flying toward me, which startled me into clapping my hand over my mouth and quickly retreating.

Thankfully, it was a false alarm. The bees were not after me; they flew past me toward a patch of wildflowers in the distance. "Thank goodness," I muttered, wiping sweat from my brow.

Now that I was sure the bees hadn't left and were thriving, there was no need to linger. I had another task to accomplish before the rain began, something that had only occurred to me upon waking—a principle of nature I had previously neglected.

At last, I was aware of it, and it wasn't too late. Now, axe in hand, I stood beside a slender vine in the woods. I intended to dig it up, roots and all, and transplant it next to my treehouse.

My plan was to move several vines beside my treehouse. Once they grew, they would climb all over it, strengthening the structure and, to some extent, shielding it from the force of heavy rain, thus reducing the chance of leaks.

I had never cultivated vines before. Their roots were long, and using the pointed end of my fire axe, I dug almost thirty centimeters down without reaching the end. The roots were fine and numerous; at first, I broke several, but, fearing it would affect their survival, I widened the hole.

Just for this single vine, I had already opened a hole nearly fifty centimeters in diameter and forty-five centimeters deep. The roots twisted and turned, as if they could pierce the earth itself, making it impossible to find their end.

When I was about to lose heart, I finally reached the bottom—nearly fifty centimeters deep by my hand's measure.

I dug up three vines in total, which left me exhausted. If I were to dig another, I would surely collapse right here. These would suffice for now; I would see if they survived, how effective they were, and whether they would attract snakes.

That last concern troubled me most—I dreaded the thought of snakes hiding among the vines. But that would have to wait until the vines matured.

By the time I returned to the yard, a fine drizzle had begun to fall. I had to hurry with the planting, but the process was difficult. I wanted to preserve the delicate roots at the base of the vines, so I dug holes as deep as their original surroundings.

By the time I finished the three pits, my hair was damp with rain, and droplets trickled down my face. Fortunately, the rain hadn't intensified, or all my efforts would have been wasted.

To maximize the vines' chances of survival, after placing the seedlings in the pits, I crumbled the clods of earth before covering them. Although I had dug out the roots with soil attached, I feared that large clumps might damage the exposed roots. Once done, I tamped the soil firm.

"All done!" I said with satisfaction, dusting the dirt from my hands. As for Blackie, I had no idea where that fellow had gone. He'd slipped out when I opened the door earlier and hadn't returned, even as the rain began. Hopefully, he wouldn't come back covered in mud.

Just as I reached the treehouse entrance, the rain intensified, making me worry for Blackie. Why did he have to go out in such weather? What if something happened to him?

The rain outside had quickly turned from a drizzle to fat drops, each striking the eaves with enough force to send splashes onto my face. My concern deepened.

"I'd better go inside for now. In the future, I can't let him out on days like this," I sighed, turning back indoors.

"Oh my!" I exclaimed, startled—not by another snake, but by Blackie himself. He was curled up sound asleep in his travel crate, completely silent. So all that time, he had been napping in the room, making me worry for nothing.

Seeing his fluffy coat, I realized he must have come back soon after he left. If he'd been out in the rain, his fur would be matted or clumped, not so smooth and tidy.

Hearing my voice, he barely opened one eye, glanced at me, flicked his tail, and promptly went back to sleep.

"Ungrateful little rascal," I muttered with a smile. If I had food in hand, I bet he'd be up in an instant.

Though it looked dark outside, it was still quite early. Judging by the emptiness in my stomach, it wasn't even midday yet.

It was the perfect opportunity to try making the vine baskets and hand-carried baskets I'd thought about before. Though I'd never made such things, I had seen my female colleagues at work weaving baskets from processed vines, so I had some idea of the process.

Whether I could succeed, I'd only find out by trying.