IWas Upset That My Grandfather Only Left Me an Old Apiary until I Looked into the Beehives The biggest disappointment my late grandfather, who had promised me the world and told me stories of hidden treasure, had left me was an old, dusty apiary.

Who puts their grandchild in a shack full of insects? Up until the day I looked inside the beehives, this horrible joke of an inheritance felt like a slap in the face.The morning was ordinary. Aunt Daphne glanced at the disarray on my bed through her glasses. “Robyn, have you packed your bag yet?”I moaned and covered my phone, saying, “I’m texting Chloe.” “Bus time is almost here! Prepare yourself.” As she stuffed books into my backpack, Aunt Daphne said.I noticed the time. 7:58 a.m.

“Yeah, okay,” I sighed as I stood from the bed. She extended a shirt, ready to be ironed, for me. You realise that this isn’t what your grandfather had in mind for you. He thought you would be self-sufficient and strong. And the beehives he abandoned? They won’t take care of themselves.” I thought about Grandpa and the honey and the bees. But suddenly all I could think about was Scott, my crush, and the next school dance.“Maybe tomorrow, I’ll check them out,” I responded while arranging my hair. “You never get to see tomorrow. Robyn, Grandpa had faith in you. She persisted, “He wanted you to look after the apiary. <“Look, Aunt Daphne,” I remarked acerbic. “I’ve got better things to do than take care of Grandpa’s bees!” I saw the tears well up in Aunt Daphne’s eyes and her face collapse. However, I ignored her dejected expression and hurried out as soon as the school bus honked. I was thinking about Scott on the bus, not about the apiary Grandpa Archie had given me. “Who wants an apiary?” I pondered, irritated by the obligation.But Aunt Daphne brought it up again the following day. She chastised me for ignoring housework and used my phone excessively.She yelled, “You’re grounded, young lady!” and I looked up from my phone at that moment. “Stabilised? For what purpose?” I objected.She said, “For shirking responsibility,” bringing up the abandoned apiary. “The beehive? That ineffective apiary?” I sneered. “Robyn, it’s all about accountability. Aunt Daphne remarked, her voice choked with emotion, “That’s what Grandpa wanted for you.”I objected, saying, “Look, Aunt Daphne, I’m afraid I’ll get stung!” She retorted, “You’ll be wearing protective gear.” “A little fear is normal, but you can’t let it stop you.”I went reluctantly to the apiary. Inquisitive and afraid at the same time, I moved closer to the hive. With my heart racing, I removed the bulky gloves I was wearing and started collecting honey from the hive.My glove was suddenly stung by a bee. I was about to give up when I felt a wave of resolve wash over me. I have to get this done. I had to show Aunt Daphne that I was not the careless, reckless fourteen-year-old she assumed me to be. I found a fading map with odd markings inside a weather-beaten plastic bag I found inside the hive while extracting honey. It appeared to be Grandpa Archie’s treasure map. I was excited as I put the map in my pocket and rode my bike home. I crept out of the house, leaving the half-full jar of honey on the kitchen counter, and followed the map into the woods.I laughed about Grandpa’s adventures and recalled his stories as I made my way through the well-known forest. I shivered as I stepped into a clearing that seemed like it could have sprung out of Grandpa’s stories. When I was a child, he used to talk about the fabled White Walker of the forest exactly here, which would let my imagination go wild. And there it was, exactly as he had described it in his stories: the ancient gamekeeper’s home, its porch leaning and paint peeled, a sign of neglect. I remembered with a wave of bittersweet nostalgia, “Grandpa used to sit us down here, munching on sandwiches and pie, and weave his incredible stories.”I felt the old dwarf tree close to the porch and could almost hear Grandpa jokingly say, “Watch out, kiddo.” “Let’s not wake up the grumpy little gnomes,” we said, transporting ourselves back to those carefree days. After discovering the old key buried inside, I opened the cabin and entered a world that had been forgotten by time. A musty stench permeated the air, and scattered sunlight revealed tiny grains of dust glistening in it.A wonderfully carved metal box on a dirty table caught my attention. There was a special note from Grandpa inside for me:“To my lovely Robyn, this box contains a wonderful treasure for you; nevertheless, it must not be opened until the actual end of your voyage. When the time is right, you’ll know. Love and prayers, Grandpa.” I was eager to open it and discover what was inside, but I couldn’t help but think of Grandpa’s parting words, “Only at the end of your journey.” I could not turn away from his final request.I kept going into the jungle, but eventually I started to feel lost. I thought, “This map is no good,” as I couldn’t find a way out of the forest. I had no idea when I began to cry. However, I suddenly recalled something significant. I told myself, “Grandpa always said to stay calm.” “I can’t give up.”Then there was a sound that reminded me of terrifying stories I had heard as a child—like a little branch breaking off far away. Gazing around at the vast forest, I thought, “Maybe Aunt Daphne was right to warn me.” But remembering Grandpa’s words gave me the courage to press on, leading me through the engulfing wilderness. I inhaled deeply, nervously, and attempted to gather my thoughts. It made sense to head back, but it would be difficult to see well in the dark jungle. Grandpa used to talk about a bridge, so I reasoned that it may be helpful. I wiped a tear from my eye and straightened my rucksack. I said to myself in a murmur, “Okay, Robyn.” “Let’s find that bridge.”But that self-assurance was short-lived. The woods were frightening because the light was sinking. I was so tired that I curled up behind a tree, missing Aunt Daphne’s warm kitchen. There was no comfort in my rucksack, only constant reminders of my lack of planning. I looked around desperately for food, but all I could find were crumbs from stale crackers. “Pay attention, Robyn. Locate the bridge. I told myself to “find water,” pushing aside my hunger.The sound of rushing water propelled me forward as I applied heal-all leaves to my wounds and recalled Grandpa’s advice. However, the river had changed from the calm stream I had remembered to a swift and hazardous torrent.Driven by a frantic thirst, I scrambled down the rocky slope, ignoring the precarious path. When I got to the edge of the lake, I bent over and scooped up the chilly waters with my hands. At that point, it tasted slightly metallic, yet it was nectar that gave life. Upon standing up, the unstable surface deceived me. I screamed for assistance as I slipped and fell into the freezing stream. I fell, dragged by my rucksack. “Grandpa,” I clumsily muttered. A flicker of insight appeared when she thought about him, piercing the fear. I couldn’t have given up on him. I learned to fight and to be brave from him. I opted to part with the backpack but retain Grandpa’s metal filing cabinet. I struggled against the water, without giving up, and made my way towards the shore.In the whirling frenzy, my fingers brushed a solid log—a lifeline. With all my effort, I held onto it while the current threw me around like a rag doll. Then it gave me one last shove, leaving me battered and sputtering on the muddy bank. I hung my drenched garments up on a tree to dry after peeling them off. Then I noticed a metal box that might hold the key to getting me back. I was urged by Grandpa to hold off on opening it until the very end of my voyage, but I was at my breaking point. I opened it and saw a jar of honey and a picture of the two of us, but no treasure. That’s when it dawned on me: as Grandpa had always said, the true jewel of this journey was learning the value of hard labour. I started crying as I realised how much Grandpa had taught me and how I had disregarded it all. I had been pursuing adventures and had neglected the lessons he had attempted to impart to me. I told myself, wiping my runny nose, that it was time to get going and make my grandfather proud. Beneath a large oak tree, I began constructing a shelter out of branches and leaves. Although difficult, it was sufficient for the evening.The bright sun woke me up the following morning. I thought about Grandpa as I pushed through the woods, clinging to that metal crate like it was my lifeline. I felt slightly warmer thinking back to the times we went fishing together. He said, “Slow and steady,” almost audibly. I was so sure he was with me that I even began to hum one of his favourite songs. I felt hope rise when I spotted a bridge in the distance. I wasn’t alone with Grandpa’s lessons in my heart. But suddenly the woodland became a bewildering maze and I became anxious. As I was about to give up, I staggered into a clearing and fell, completely worn out. A dog came across me at that point, and I heard a chorus of muffled voices say, “There she is!” I awoke in a hospital bed with Aunt Daphne beside me. Overcome with regret, I managed to say, “I’m sorry.” “I’m so sorry, Aunt Daphne.” “Silence, my love. You’re secure now,” she said.“I made a mistake,” I exclaimed. “Grandpa was right about everything!” Grinning, Aunt Daphne took my hand. “Dear, he’s always loved you. even if you didn’t understand why you were angry with him. Recall how angry you were, only a few weeks before he died, that you didn’t acquire that smartwatch?” “He never showed me gratitude for anything he did for me. He was there for me at all times. After they passed away, Grandpa became my Mom and Dad as well. However, I—” “Dear, he knew you would turn around. Even when you didn’t believe in yourself, he always had faith in you.” She then reached into a bag next to her chair and took out a vividly coloured package. The sight of the blue wrapping paper, which Grandpa had usually used for gifts, made me gasp. Gently, Aunt Daphne whispered, “This is for you,” setting the box on my lap. I wanted the Xbox. “Grandpa would have wanted you to have this,” Aunt Daphne said. “He said when you learned the value of hard work and understood the importance of patience and perseverance, it would be yours.” With a pledge, “I’ll be good, Aunt Daphne,” “I no longer require this. I’ve gotten the lesson.” That was all the comfort I needed to hear Aunt Daphne’s smile again, one that was genuine and brighter than before. I reached over to the bedside and took out the little container of honey.“Would you like some honey, Aunt Daphne?” I extended the sticky jar in question. She took the container, sampled the honey with her finger. Her voice was quiet as she said, “It’s sweet.” Similar to you, Robyn. similar to you!”Years passed quickly after that. Now that I’m 28 years old and have gone from being a whiny teenager to a bee boss with two young terrors of my own—who, happily, like honey—I’ve learned a few lessons about responsibility. Regards, Grandpa! I’m grateful for all that you taught me. Every time I witness my children’s excitement when they consume honey, I whisper. I am reminded of the wonderful bond that Grandpa and I had by that delectable honey.