I’m not allergic to bees, but I am the type of person that goes running in fear whenever something with a stinger flies by me. 

I’ve been stung quite a few times over the years. The last time was almost two years ago when a yellowjacket crawled up my pant leg while I was photographing soccer. My eyes got misty, and I was forced to retreat to my car. I was stung on the finger once, right before I went out riding my horse. My finger exploded with pain and swelled up, and my dad had to put my horse away for me. 

I can’t remember many other stings, but I know it’s happened more than twice. I must have blocked them from my memory. 

Carrie White, editor, passed the Jasper Park Lodge bee story to me the week before our Aug. 11 issue. I don’t usually protest an assignment, but I looked at her with a frightened expression and said, “Have I ever told you how terrified I am of bees?”

Carrie’s response was basically, “Suck it up, Buttercup.” 

Perhaps her reason for sending me on such an assignment was because she figured that someone who is scared of bees and is forced to be around thousands of them, might get over their fear. 

My boss is either wise beyond her years, or punishing me for something I am unaware I deserve punishment for, I thought to myself. 

So the day finally came and after fretting about the assignment, Buttercup did just what her all-knowing boss had said – and sucked it up. 

Clutching my camera bag I met with the lodge’s Executive Head Chef Derek Ingraham. Soon we were zipping up our massive bee suits and heading up to the roof. We approached the hives, and secured the hoods over our faces and put on gloves. I was given a glove with a hole for the finger so that I could take photos. I wondered if a bee could get inside. I pulled out my camera and kept my exposed index finger curled into my hand unless it was on the shutter. 

Derek told me to come right up to the hives. My mind was screaming “IS HE CRAZY? Or can he just not see the thousands of bees spewing out from the bottom?” He pointed out that standing in the entrance of the hive like I was wasn’t a very good idea, so I gingerly slid my feet across the threshold to the hives, and slid between them as the bees swarmed around my legs. My jeans were sticking out the bottom, and the shoes I wore had a bit of exposed sock. I have a thing for wearing rainbow socks, and I immediately regretted my decision to chose that particular pattern. I wondered if the boss would mistake the colour for flowers. They didn’t mind, however. They flew around me as if I wasn’t there. 

I relaxed – a bit – and started snapping photos. At one point a bee started throwing itself at the screen in front of my face. My nose wrinkled up as far as it could – which isn’t very far as noses aren’t made to contract. My shutter finger curled in again, and the bee bounced off my Canon and settled on the flash button. I needed to take more photos, but how was I supposed to do that with a bee on my camera? I nervously watched as it eventually took flight and once again bashed into the screen. It then flew around my ear; I ignored the impulse to bat it away, because I knew that was a sure way to get stung. 

After being shown the screens inside the hives, it was over, and I was free of stings.

My opinion of bees really has changed. I realized this while enjoying my favourite pastime, which is sitting in a papasan chair on the deck at home with a good glass of wine and an even better book, overlooking my beloved tomato plants.

After finishing up my bee feature at work earlier that day, I was out reading. A bumblebee buzzed over to my fuschias and began collecting nectar. I put down my book and watched it busy itself with the geraniums. I tried to telepathically send it towards my tomato plants. It left and I picked up my book again. A while later, the buzzing returned, and I glanced up expecting to see another bee in the flowers. This time it was a yellowjacket, and it was furiously flying in circles above my head, dipping low in front of my face. I stayed still, but the bug continued to dive and zig-zag too close for comfort. I finally fled the papasan chair – which is not an easy task to do quickly if you’ve ever sat in one. A half an hour later, I continued my reading outside. The buzzing came back, but this time it was my bumblebee friend after the fuschias again.

I have officially upgraded my fear to wasps, but not bees. 

DISCLAIMER: The Last Word is an opinion column, it is meant to provoke thought and debate. As such, any opinions written here are the writer’s own and do not reflect the viewpoint of any other Fitzhugh staff member or the directors of the Jasper Media Group Inc.