This is a photo of the sunset we captured after our day of adventure on Sunday night. This was a reminder that all’s well that ends well.
The title of this post, on the other hand, is part of a quote from Tommy Boy. It is one of my favorite movies, because it makes me laugh.
I’ve never been afraid of bees. They are such interesting little creatures and provide such a service…as in, you know, keeping the entire human race alive.
I’ve never been stung by a bee.
Claire has never been stung by a bee.
My husband HAS been stung by bees before, but he was spared this weekend.
So, what happened?
Well, we were out letterboxing. (Of course, we were.) Some friends had invited us to stay with them at a friend’s cabin near Fairplay, CO. In preparation for our weekend getaway, I searched for Letterboxes in the area, and sure enough! There was one near a tiny little town right where we needed to be! Sweet!
Our friends had never been letterboxing with us, and we were going to show them how fun and addicting this is.
*cue the ominous music here*
After getting turned around a couple times, we finally got back on the right track and the clues fell into place. The only problem we found was that “the gravel road to the left” where we were supposed to turn was barely a path that wandered off into the underbrush. It fit the clues perfectly, though, so we knew it was right.
Rather than “drive” down the road as instructed, we parked and were going to hike in. We were supposed to go a tenth of a mile for the next portion of the clue. Easy peasy!
As we’re walking, the “road” turns less and less into a road and more into a barely trampled path. “Probably by other letterboxers wondering why they called this a ‘road,’ right?” we joked.
All of a sudden, Claire starts crying.
“I don’t want to be here! I’m scared!” she screams.
“A bee just hit her in the face!” our friend says.
Claire is so upset, and this is very uncharacteristic of her. I bend over to console her and get her somewhat calmed down. I think she’s scared about being smacked in the face by a bee, and this is causing the brush to seem like it’s closing in around us.
She is visibly shaken, and still teary. Should we turn back?
As a distraction technique, I start pointing out the plants around us. “We’re standing on some wild strawberries! See their leaves? Look at these flowers over here? I wonder what kind they are? They sure are pretty.”
All of a sudden, I feel a searing, white-hot flash of pain in my wrist. What the…?!
My wrist immediately starts to puff up, and there is a welt forming.
At first, I’m so confused and have no idea what happened. Then it hits me: I’ve been STUNG BY A BEE. I’ve never been stung by a bee before! This sucks!
I try not to panic; the guys have gone on down the “trail,” and my other friend asks if she should just take Claire back to the car. I think that’s a good idea. Claire is way too upset to get much value out of more bushwhacking, and the guys yelled back to us that it opens up a bit.
My wrist is starting to really hurt…but I’m breathing okay, so I just fight my way through the brush. I decide to press on.
It does open up a bit more, but something is not right. Either the flooding has caused issues, or things have really overgrown since this box was planted. My wrist is killing me. Claire is upset. It’s time to bail.
We fight our way back and then hurry past the section with the wild strawberries. We’d been minding our own business the first time, and I certainly don’t want there to be any more misunderstandings!!
As we break out onto the gravel road, we discover that a bee didn’t just smack Claire in the face…IT HAD STUNG HER.
Her top lip is all swollen, and there is an obvious welt. (She hadn’t reacted as quickly as I had, so I hadn’t even noticed her lip when consoling her.)
We also discover that the first aid kit in the car is neatly packed UNDER THE ENTIRE CONTENTS OF THE TRUNK. Very convenient! Rather than unpack and repack the car on a gravel road, I have cream in my purse, but it’s not benadryl or cortizone, it’s a type of lidocaine. We opt for that and an ice pack. I slather some on her face and my wrist and we hold our respective ice packs all the way to the cabin.
As we’re driving, Claire has stopped crying, but there are tear tracks down her cheeks. Her mouth is so swollen she can barely speak without a lisp, and her voice is muffled under the ice pack anyway. “I do NOT like bee stings, Momma…but can we find more letterboxes on this trip? Please?”
That’s my girl.