The first day of summer for six-year-old Oliver began with agonising anticipation. Grandpa William had decided to take him for the whole season to the apiarya place he’d heard so much about from his dad! Mum had hesitated at first but eventually agreed, though not for the whole summer, just until August. Then she and Dad would come to fetch him from sleepy Hollowfordtime to prepare for school, after all. This year, hed be starting Year One!
Grandpa William arrived in his battered old Land Rover, bringing woodland treats, but Ollie barely glanced at them. He buzzed around his grandfather, tugging at his shirt sleeve every other second, desperate to leaveconvinced that if they lingered, Mum might change her mind. Chuckling at his grandsons impatience, Grandpa ruffled his hair.
“Dont fret, Ollie, its settled! Best eat your breakfast nowlunch will be at the apiary!”
Finally, the bags were loaded, and off they went! For the first time, Ollie was without Mum and Dads watchful eyes. Not that it matteredGrandpa was more like a mate than a guardian. He never lectured, never scolded, and you could talk to him about *anything*global politics, lifes big questionsall with the gravity of two proper gents. No room for silly grins here.
Somewhere along the journey, Ollie shamefully dozed off. He woke only when the Land Rover began lurching over potholestheyd turned off the motorway onto a dirt track. Outside, birch groves whizzed past, so close he could almost touch them. And the *smell*! Nothing like the city. Fields stretched out, splashed with bluebells, buttercups, and daisies, swaying like a green-and-gold sea under the breeze. For a moment, Ollie fancied they were sailing it in a speedboat.
“Nearly there, Grandpa?” Ollie nudged his shoulder, pretending he hadnt been asleepjust lost in thought.
“Nearly. Beyond that copse is the apiary. Old Berts probably waiting. And Misty with her kitten too.”
“Mistys the mum?” Ollie guessed. “Will she let me play with him?”
“If you respect *her* and adore *him*yes. But if youre rowdy, shell box your ears. Strictest mum youll ever meetnothing like yours.”
“*Me*? Scolded by a *cat*?” Ollie scoffed. No feline had ever dared lay a paw on him!
“Not just any cat,” Grandpa corrected. “Youve never met one like her. Just dont stare too longshes kind, but still a wild thing, and protective of her little one.”
At last, they arrived. Two log cabins stood aheadone large, one small. From the smaller one, drawn by the Land Rovers rumble, emerged… a lynx!
Ollie froze, but seeing her rub against Grandpas legs, he dared to step closer.
“*Blimey*, thats a cat!” he breathed. Misty padded over, sniffed him, thenapproving of his awewinked and brushed against his legs. When Ollie crouched, she nudged his cheek with her damp nose. He burst out laughing.
“Consider yourselves introduced,” Grandpa said. “Now youre one of hers.”
Ollie gawped at the striped bees darting aboutnothing like the citys meek honey-makers. One landed on his cheek. Thendisaster. Ignoring Grandpas warning shout, he swatted it. The sting was worse than any jab from the doctor! Hissing through his teeth, Ollie wobbled but stayed upright. Grandpa plucked out the sting and clapped his shoulder.
“Tough as nails, you are! Didnt even squeak. Thats a bee for youharmless unless threatened.”
A bearded man with twinkling eyes shook Ollies hand. “Berts the name. You must be Ollie?”
“Yep,” Ollie confirmed. “Im staying with you now.”
“Welcome aboard!” Bert grinned.
“Berttheres a bee on your forehead,” Ollie warned.
Gently, Bert lifted it, whispered something, and let it fly. The bee circled once before vanishing. *Magic*.
Within a week, Ollie knew the land, befriended the bees, andmost importantlybonded with Mistys kitten, whom he named Pippin. They raced through the fields, played hide-and-seek in the woods (Ollie never stood a chancePippin found him in seconds). When Ollie yelled, “I give up! Where are you?” the kitten would drop from a tree, purring triumphantly.
Life with the men was grand, too. After the bee sting, no one coddled himGrandpa just removed the sting, Bert said, “Happens to the best of us,” and that was that. Ollie strutted about with a puffy cheek, feeling properly grown-up. (He briefly considered getting a matching sting but thought better of it.) If Mum had been there, shed have smothered him with compresseshere, it was no fuss.
He learned to rise at dawn, wash in icy stream water (bracing stuff), and joined the men fishing. He even caught a few perch himself, then helped gut and scale themgiven his *own* knife! No one fretted hed nick a finger. Bert even gifted him a sheath knife for woodland walks”Just in case.”
One day, Bert carried home a spotted fawn with a broken leg. While the men worked, Ollie stroked its nose, murmuring comfort. They built a pen for the fawndubbed Bramblewho stayed a month. Misty and Pippin watched, intrigued, but after a word from Bert, they lost interest. Soon, Bramble trotted offno limp.
“His mums nearby,” Bert said. “Shell fetch him.”
Sure enough, Bramble vanished one day, leaving Ollie glum but wiser.
Grandpa taught him to foragewild strawberries, cherries, mushrooms (sorted into “tasty” and “tummy-ache”). They brought back baskets of fungi to dry or picklea fiddly art! Once, Ollie saw Grandpa chatting to a large “dog” in the woods. It offered a paw, let him examine it, then vanished.
“Your friend?” Ollie asked.
“Wolf,” Grandpa said. “Bert and I freed him from a trap once. Now he shadows us in the woodskeeps an eye out.”
“Why not live with you?”
“Wild things belong wild. You can befriend them, but never tame them.”
Ollie frowned. Hed planned to take Pippin home. Grandpas words stuck.
One morning, Pippin and Misty were gone. No amount of calling brought them.
Bert, carving a new hive, set down his tools. “Lost Pippin? Thats how it goes. Mistys teaching himhow to hunt, shelter, survive. Come winter, theyll leave for the moors. By spring, hell be grown.”
As days passed, the cats visited less, though they still dozed in the cabin between lessons.
In early August, Mum and Dad arrived. Mum gapedher “little lad” was taller, tanner, *older*. Hed even taken to chaperoning *her*, copying the mens ways. For a week, she basked in the care of four doting blokes.
Ollie watched, amazed, as Mistywhod known Dad years agorubbed against him, purring. When Misty pressed her ear to Mums belly, then winked, Mum blushed.
“Shes guessed,” Dad laughed.
“Guessed? She *knows*,” Mum muttered.
On departure day, Ollie called for Pippin in vain. Heart heavy, he swallowed tears, shook hands with the grandpas, and climbed into the car. He didnt look backuntil the last bend. Dust swirled behind them, thentwo golden shapes racing along the road.
“Dad, *stop*!”
The Land Rover halted. Pippin and Misty bounded over. Ollie knelt; Pippin planted his paws on his shoulders, nuzzling his face. Misty licked his hand.
“You *remembered* me!” Ollie whispered, tears flowing freely now.
The farewell stretched. Mum wept; Dad pretended he wasnt sniffing. At last, Misty yowled, and Pippinreluctantlypulled away. They vanished into the trees with one last amber-eyed glance.
As the car rolled on, Mum dabbed her cheeks. Dad cleared his throat. Then Ollie said, firm as Grandpa ever had:
“Dadnext summer, Im coming back.”
“Course, son,” Dad replied. “Youve more to learn from those two yet.”
