The first day of summer for six-year-old Oliver began with eager anticipation. His grandfather, William, had decided to take him to the beekeeping farm for the entire seasona place Oliver had heard so much about from his father! His mother hesitated at first but eventually agreed, though not for the whole summer, just until August. Then she and his father would come to collect him from the remote countrysideit would be time to prepare for school. This year, Oliver was starting Year One!
Grandfather William arrived in his old Land Rover, bringing wild treats from the forest, but Ollie barely glanced at them. He buzzed around his grandfather, tugging at his shirt sleeve every few minutes, urging him to hurryafraid something might happen to change his mothers mind. Understanding his grandsons impatience, William chuckled and ruffled his hair.
“Dont fret, Ollie, its settled! Best eat your breakfast nowlunch will be at the farm!”
At last, they loaded the car and set off. For the first time, Oliver was without his parents watchful eyes. But Granddad wasnt just any guardianhe was a friend! Never one for lectures or scolding, he treated Ollie like an equal, discussing everything under the sun with thoughtful seriousness. No condescension, just two sensible people having sensible conversationswhat was there to laugh about?
Oliver dozed off embarrassingly soon into the journey. He woke only when the car jolted onto a bumpy country lane, leaving the motorway behind. Outside, birch groves drifted past, so close he could almost touch them. And the scent! Nothing like the city. Fields stretched endlessly, dappled with blue, yellow, and white wildflowers swaying in the breezelike a rippling sea, with Oliver and Granddad sailing its waves.
“Are we nearly there?” Ollie nudged his grandfathers shoulder, pretending he hadnt been asleep at alljust lost in thought.
“Nearly. Just past that copse is the farm. Arthurs probably waiting. And Shadow with her kitten too.”
“Shadows the kittens mum?” Oliver guessed. “Will she let me play with him?”
“If you respect her and treat her kitten with kindnessyes. But if youre rough, shell swat you both. Shes a strict mothernot like yours.”
“Me? Scolded by a cat?” Ollie scoffed. No cat had ever dared lay a paw on himuntil now.
“Shes not just any cat. Best not stare too long into her eyes,” Granddad advised. “Shes gentle, but shes still a wild thingand fiercely protective.”
When they arrived, Oliver saw two timber cottagesone large, one small. From the smaller one, at the sound of the Land Rovers engine, emerged a wildcat!
Oliver flinched, but seeing her rub against Granddads legs, he gathered courage.
“Now thats a cat!” he marvelled. Shadow approached, sniffing him. When she heard his admiration, she blinked at him and nuzzled his legs. As he crouched beside her, she bumped her damp nose against his cheek, making him burst into laughter.
“Youre friends now,” Granddad smiled. “Youre one of hers.”
Oliver gaped at the striped bees darting aboutnothing like the citys tiny ones. One even landed on his cheek. Then disaster struck. Ignoring Granddads warning shout, he swatted itand pain sharper than any jab shot through his face. Hissing through clenched teeth, he barely stayed upright. Granddad was beside him in an instant, inspecting the sting before plucking out the barb.
“Youre tougher than I thought! Didnt even whimper,” he said approvingly. “Bees only sting when theyre defending their lives. Leave them be, and theyll do the same.”
A bearded man with twinkling eyes shook Olivers hand. “Arthurs the name. You must be Ollie?”
“Yep. Im staying with you now,” Oliver declared.
“Pleasure to have you!” Arthur grinned.
“Arthur, theres a bee on your forehead,” Oliver warned.
Arthur gently lifted it, whispered something, and released it. The bee circled once before vanishing. Amazing!
Over the next week, Oliver explored the farm, learned to handle bees, andmost importantlybefriended Shadows kitten, whom he named Simba. They raced, played tag, and hid in the nearby woods. Simba always found him, but Oliver could search for hours before yelling, “I give up! Simba, where are you?”only for the kitten to drop from a tree onto his feet.
Life with the men was just as thrilling. After the bee sting, no one coddled himGranddad just removed the stinger, and Arthur clapped his shoulder: “Happens to the best of us.” All day, Oliver wore his swollen cheek like a badge of honour. No fuss, no forced bedrestjust quiet respect.
He rose early, washed in icy stream water that energised him all day, and joined the men fishing. He caught perch himself, then helped gut and scale themeven earning his own pocketknife for woodland walks.
One day, Arthur carried a fawn with a broken leg from the forest. While the men splinted it, Oliver soothed the trembling creature, naming him Bambi. A pen was built, and though Shadow and Simba eyed the newcomer, a growl from Arthur kept them away. After a month, Bambi trotted offhis mothers call drawing him home.
Granddad took Oliver foraging for wild strawberries, cherries, and mushrooms, teaching him to spot poisonous ones. They returned with baskets full, preserving them for wintera skill unto itself! Once, Oliver watched Granddad speak to a large “dog” in the woods. It offered its paw, let him examine it, then vanished.
“A friend of yours?” Oliver asked.
“Wolf, actually. Arthur and I freed him from a trap years ago. Now he watches over us in the woods.”
“Why doesnt he live with you?”
“Wild things belong wild. You can befriend them, but never tame themits cruel.”
Oliver frowned. Hed planned to take Simba home.
Then one morning, neither Simba nor Shadow appeared. Arthur, carving a new hive, noticed Olivers gloom.
“Lost Simba? Thats how it goes. Shadows teaching him to hunt, find shelter, survive. By winter, theyll leave for good. Hell be fineshes a fine teacher.”
As August came, Olivers parents arrived. His mother gaspedher “little boy” had grown taller, tanner, steadier. He even fussed over her like the men did, making her feel cherished.
Oliver knew his father had met Shadow years ago. Now, he watched her purr against his legs, then press her ear to his mothers bellygiving a knowing blink.
“Shadow doesnt guess,” his father laughed. “She knows.”
On departure day, Oliver called for Simba in vain. Heart heavy but dry-eyed, he shook the mens hands and climbed into the car. Only as they passed the last copse did he glance backand spotted two golden eyes chasing them.
“Dad, stop!”
The car halted. Simba and Shadow bounded over. Oliver knelt as Simba draped his paws over his shoulders, nuzzling his face. Shadow licked his hand.
“You didnt forget me!” Oliver whispered, tears flowing freely.
The farewell stretched. Even his parents petted the wildcats, laughing through tears. Then Shadow yowled, and Simba regretfully pulled away. With a final blink, they melted into the trees.
As the car moved again, Oliver said firmly, “Dad, I need to come back next summer.”
“Of course, son,” his father replied. “Youve much more to learn from themto grow as they have.”
