Warm beeswax pressed beneath my feet, and the air smelled of clover, sunshine, and toast with too much jam. Inside Golden Drop Factory, thousands of wings hummed so loudly that my knees buzzed. I am Clarence, a young worker bee, and that morning I wanted one thing: to earn the silver Honey-Maker badge.
Our factory was really a grand hive with honeycomb floors, pollen storerooms, and wax tunnels. For years, we had produced the most wonderful honey in the world. Bears dreamed about it. Badgers traded blueberries for it. Once, a rabbit tasted one drop and wrote a poem containing seventeen uses of the word “delicious.”
To earn my badge, I had to win the Golden Drop Challenge. I had three attempts to create a spoonful of honey that tasted wonderful and helped our home. If nobody succeeded before sunset, our hive would lose the Honey Cup—and, worse, we might not store enough food for winter.
“You need more than sweetness,” Queen Maribel told us. “Notice what the meadow needs.”
I barely heard that last part. I was already imagining my shiny badge.
For my first attempt, I visited the clover field. Bees gather nectar with their tube-shaped tongues and carry it in special honey stomachs. While flying, we begin changing the nectar. Back at the hive, we pass it from bee to bee, then fan it with our wings until extra water disappears. Finally, we seal the thick honey inside wax cells.
I collected only the biggest clover drops, zooming past every smaller flower.
“This will be magnificent!” I cried.
It was not. My honey tasted like sugary socks.
