The first day of summer for six-year-old Oliver began with agonizing anticipation. Grandad William had decided to take him to the apiary for the entire seasonsomething hed heard so much about from Dad! Mum had hesitated at first but eventually agreed, though only until August. Then she and Dad would come to collect him from the remote countrysidehed need to prepare for school. This year, he was starting Year One!
Grandad William arrived in his old Rover that morning, bringing woodland treats, but Oliver barely glanced at them. He buzzed around his grandad, tugging at his shirt sleeve every few seconds, impatient to leaveterrified something might happen to make Mum change her mind. Sensing his grandsons nerves, Grandad chuckled and ruffled his hair.
“Dont fret, Ollie, its settled! Best eat your breakfastlunch will be at the apiary!”
Finally, they loaded the car and set off. For the first time, Oliver was without Mum and Dads watchful eyes. Not that it matteredGrandad was more like a friend. He never lectured, never scolded, and you could talk to him about anything under the sun. No condescension, just two serious people discussing serious matterswhere was the room for silliness?
Oliver shamefully dozed off during the drive, only waking when the car jolted onto a bumpy dirt track. Outside, birch groves drifted past, so close he could almost touch them! And the smellnothing like the city. Fields stretched endlessly, splashed with blue, yellow, and white wildflowers swaying in the breeze. It looked like a rippling sea, and Oliver imagined he and Grandad were sailing across it.
“Are we nearly there, Grandad?” Oliver touched his shoulder, pretending he hadnt been asleepjust lost in thought.
“Nearly. Just past that copse. Old George will be waiting. So will Luna and her kitten.”
“Lunas the mum?” Oliver guessed. “Will she let me play with her baby?”
“If you treat her with respect and her kitten with love, of course. But if youre reckless, shell cuff you bothshes a strict mother, not like yours.”
“Me? Scolded by a cat?” Oliver scoffed. No cat had ever dared lay a paw on him!
“Not just any cat. Youve never met one like her. Just dont stare too long into her eyes,” Grandad warned. “Shes gentle, but shes still a wild thingand fiercely protective.”
At last, they arrived. Oliver spotted two timber cabinsone large, one small. From the open door of the smaller one, hearing the Rovers engine, emerged… a lynx!
Oliver flinched, but seeing her rub against Grandads legs, he gathered his courage.
“Now thats a cat!” he gasped. Luna padded over, sniffing him. At his awestruck tone, she blinked and brushed against his legs. When he crouched, she nudged his face with her cold nose, making him laugh.
“Consider yourselves introduced,” Grandad smiled. “Now youre family.”
Olivers head swiveled, mesmerized by the striped honeybees darting aboutnothing like the citys tiny insects. One landed on his cheek. Then disaster struck. Ignoring Grandads shout, he swatted it. Pain lanced through his face, sharper than any injection! Hissing, he swayed, but Grandad steadied him, plucked out the stinger, and clapped his shoulder.
“Youre tougher than I thought! Not a whimperproper lad. Bees only sting when theyre defending their lives.”
“Pleased to meet you,” a bearded man with twinkling eyes shook Olivers hand. “Im Grandad George. You must be Ollie?”
Oliver nodded. “Im staying with you now.”
“Welcome aboard!” George grinned.
“Grandad George, theres a bee on your forehead,” Oliver warned.
George plucked it gently, whispered something, and released it. The bee circled once before vanishing. Amazing!
Within a week, Oliver had mapped the area, learned to handle bees, andmost importantlybefriended Lunas kitten, whom he named Simba. When not helping the men, he spent every moment with his stubby-tailed friend. Luna watched their antics with a grumble but never interfered. Simba, though only three months old, was growing fastsoon hed match Lunas size! They raced through the woods, played hide-and-seek. Oliver always lostSimba found him instantlybut when Oliver cried, “I give up! Simba, where are you?” the kitten pounced from a tree.
The men fascinated him too. After the bee sting, no one coddled him. Grandad William removed the stinger; Grandad George just said, “Happens to the best of us.” All day, Oliver sported a swollen cheek, and nobody fussedjust part of life. He felt grown-up. Briefly, he considered getting stung again for symmetry but held off. Mum wouldve confined him to bed with cold compresseshere, it was no big deal.
He rose early, washed in icy water that energized him, joined fishing trips, and even caught a few perch. They cleaned and salted themOliver wielded his own knife, taught to scale and gut properly. No one worried hed cut himself. Grandad George even gifted him a sheathed knife for the woods”just in case.”
One day, Grandad George carried home a spotted fawn with a broken leg. While the men tended it, Oliver stroked its muzzle, whispering comfort. They built an enclosure, and though Luna and Simba eyed the fawndubbed BambiGeorge spoke sternly, and they backed off. After a month, Bambi limped no more but stayed close.
“His mums nearby,” George said. “Shell claim him.”
Sure enough, Bambi vanished one day, leaving Oliver heartbroken.
Grandad William took him foragingwild strawberries, cherries, mushrooms. They gathered baskets full, drying and pickling them. Once, Oliver watched Grandad chat with a large “dog” in the woods. It listened, offered its paw, then vanished.
“Your friend?” Oliver asked.
“Wolf,” Grandad corrected. “We freed him from a trap years ago. Now he watches over us.”
“Why doesnt he stay?”
“Wild things belong free. You can befriend them, but never cage them.”
Oliver frowned. Hed planned to take Simba home. Grandads words haunted him.
One morning, neither Simba nor Luna appeared. Oliver searched, crestfallen.
Grandad George set down his tools. “Lost Simba? Lunas teaching himhow to hunt, shelter, survive. By winter, theyll leave for the wild. Hell thrive.”
Simbas visits grew rare. Though still affectionate, he and Luna became distant, often vanishing for days.
In early August, Mum and Dad arrived. Mum gaspedOliver was taller, tanner, calmer. Hed even adopted the mens protective manner, fussing over her like Dad did. She basked in the attention of four doting “gentlemen.”
Oliver watched, stunned, as Lunawhod known Dad before he was bornrubbed against him, purring. When Luna pressed her ear to Mums belly and meowed knowingly, Mum blushed.
“Guessed already, Luna?”
“Luna doesnt guess,” Dad smiled. “She knows.”
On departure day, Oliver called for Simba in vain. He fought tears, shook the mens hands, and climbed into the car dry-eyeduntil the last bend. He turned for a final glimpse of the place that taught him friendship, nature, and love. Dust swirled; two golden shapes raced along the roadside.
“Dad, stop!”
The car halted. Simba and Luna appeared instantly. Oliver tumbled out, dropping to his knees as Simba draped heavy paws over his shoulders, nuzzling his face. Luna licked his hand.
“You remembered me!” Oliver sobbed openly now, tears unchecked.
The farewell stretched. Mum cried too; Dad pretended not to. Finally, Luna yowled, and Simba regretfully withdrew. They paused at the treeline, blinked their golden eyes, and disappeared.
As the car sped away, Oliver said firmly, “Dad, I need to come back next summer.”
“Of course, son. Youve more to learn from them… to become like them.”
