A Story About Bees
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When I was eight years old, the gully across the street was my kingdom. It was a wild, adventurous realm, perfect for an ADHD-fueled boy with a knack for turning curiosity into calamity. My friend and I spent countless hours there, digging, exploring, and occasionally getting into trouble. But one day, the gully fought back—and it fought back hard. We were deep in our mission, excavating softened, rotted wood at the bottom of the gully. The wood had this odd reddish hue, and whether it was actually redwood or just nature’s way of being weird, I’ll never know. The buzzing of a few bees added an annoying background soundtrack to our adventure, but we were determined to press on. Then came the obstacle: a skinny little tree, stubbornly planted right in the middle of our excavation site. It was like the universe’s middle finger to our progress. We hacked, we tugged, we argued with it, but it wouldn’t budge. Finally, I took matters into my own hands—or rather, both hands—and grabbed it with...