It was a normal morning. Aunt Daphne looked over her glasses at the mess on my bed. “Robyn, have you packed your bag yet?”
“I’m texting Chloe,” I groaned, hiding my phone.
“It’s almost bus time! Get ready!” Aunt Daphne said, stuffing books into my bag.
I noticed the time. 7:58 A.M. “Ugh, fine,” I groaned, rising from the bed.
She held out a shirt for me, ironed and ready. “This isn’t what your Grandpa hoped for you, you know. He believed you’d be strong, independent. And those beehives he left? They’re not going to tend to themselves.”
I remembered the times with Grandpa, the honey, and the bees. But now my thoughts were focused on the forthcoming school dance and my crush, Scott.
“I’ll check them, maybe tomorrow,” I said, fixing my hair.
“Tomorrow never comes for you. Grandpa believed in you, Robyn. He wanted you to take care of the apiary,” she insisted.
“Look, Aunt Daphne,” I said sharply. “I’ve got better things to do than take care of Grandpa’s bees!”
I saw Aunt Daphne’s face slump as tears well up in her eyes. But the school bus honked right away, and I dashed out, disregarding her sorrowful expression.
On the bus, I was thinking about Scott, not the apiary I inherited from Grandpa Archie. “Who wants an apiary?” I thought, disturbed by the burden.
But the following day, Aunt Daphne brought it up again. She chastised me for ignoring tasks and wasting too much time on my phone.
“You’re grounded, young lady!” she declared suddenly, and it was then I finally looked up from my phone.
“Grounded? For what?” I protested.
“For shirking responsibility,” she replied, mentioning the neglected apiary.
“The apiary? That useless bee farm?” I scoffed.
“It’s about responsibility, Robyn. It’s what Grandpa wanted for you,” Aunt Daphne said, her voice strained with emotion.
“Look, Aunt Daphne,” I protested, “I’m scared of getting stung!”
“You’ll be wearing protective gear,” she countered. “A little fear is normal, but you can’t let it stop you.”
I reluctantly went to the apiary. As I approached the hive, I felt both terrified and curious. Wearing strong gloves, I opened the hive and began gathering honey, my heart racing.
Suddenly, a bee stung my glove. I was about to give up when I felt a surge of drive. I needed to finish this. I had to show to Aunt Daphne that I wasn’t the reckless, irresponsible 14-year-old she assumed I was.
While extracting honey, I came across a weather-worn plastic bag inside the hive carrying a faded map with peculiar symbols. It looked like a treasure map left by Grandpa Archie.
Excited, I put the map in my pocket and pedaled home. I crept out, leaving the half-filled honey jar on the kitchen counter, and followed the map into the woods.
While navigating the familiar woods, I remembered Grandpa’s stories and smiled at his adventures.
As I stepped into a clearing that appeared to be straight out of Grandpa’s stories, I couldn’t help but tremble. As a child, this was where he’d tell me about the famous White Walker of the forest, which fueled my imagination.
And there it was, just as he had described it: the old gamekeeper’s house, chipped paint and drooping porch. “Grandpa used to sit us down here, munching on sandwiches and pie after collecting honey, and weave his incredible stories,” I reflected, bittersweet emotion sweeping over me.
Touching the ancient dwarf tree near the porch, I could almost hear Grandpa’s lighthearted caution, “Watch out, kiddo. Let’s not disturb the grouchy little gnomes,” as if we were back in those carefree days.
I discovered the secret ancient key and entered the cabin, entering a world that time had forgotten. The air was heavy with a musty odor, and dust specks glimmered in the stray sunlight.
On a dusty table, I noticed a wonderfully crafted metal box. Inside was a note from Grandpa, particularly for me.
“To my dear Robyn, inside this box is a special treasure for you, but it’s not to be opened until your journey’s true end. You’ll know when the time is right. All my love, Grandpa.”
I was dying to know what was within, but Grandpa’s final words lingered in my mind: “Only at the end of your journey.”
I couldn’t ignore his final wish.
I continued on my way into the jungle, but after a while, I felt lost.
“This map is no good,” I realized, unable to see a path out of the trees. I wasn’t sure when I started crying.
But then, I remembered something important. “Grandpa always said to stay calm,” I told myself. “I can’t give up.”
Then I heard a sound like a small branch breaking far away, and it reminded me of terrifying stories from my childhood. “Maybe Aunt Daphne was right to warn me,” I reflected, glancing around the vast jungle. But remembering Grandpa’s counsel gave me the courage to keep going, guiding me through the vast desert.
I took a deep, apprehensive breath and attempted to think straight. Going back sounded like a good idea, although it would be difficult to see well in the forest after nightfall. There was a bridge, the one Grandpa always mentioned, and I thought it could help.
I wiped away a tear and straightened my backpack. “Okay, Robyn,” I said to myself. “Let’s find that bridge.”
But the confidence didn’t last long. The sun was sinking, giving the woods a sinister appearance. Exhausted, I slumped under a tree, missing Aunt Daphne’s lovely kitchen.
My backpack provided little comfort, only reminders of my unpreparedness. I searched desperately for food but only found stale cracker crumbs. “Focus, Robyn. Find the bridge. “Find water,” I told myself, ignoring my hunger.
Then, following Grandpa’s counsel, I applied heal-all leaves to my wounds and continued on, fueled by the sound of rushing water. However, the river was not the peaceful stream I remembered; it was a hazardous, fast-moving torrent.
I ignored the perilous slope and scrambled down the rocky bank, driven by a frantic thirst. I crouched at the water’s edge, cupping my hands and scooping up the chilly waters. It tasted slightly metallic, but it was life-giving nectar at the time.
As I rose, my unstable footing failed me. Slipping, I fell into the frigid river, crying for rescue. My backpack dragged me down. “Grandpa,” I murmured weakly. When I thought about him, a glimmer of lucidity sliced through the panic. He would not have wanted me to give up. He’d taught me to fight and be brave.
I opted to ditch the backpack but keep Grandpa’s metal box. Fighting the water, I battled to the shore, refusing to give up.
My fingers brushed on a sturdy plank, a lifeline in the swirling madness. I clutched to it with all of my strength as the river tossed me around like a rag doll. Then, with a final shove, it dumped me, sputtering and injured, on the muddy bank.
I took off my soaked clothing and hanged them on a tree to dry. My gaze then focused on a metal box that might help me find my way back.
Grandpa had urged me to wait until the end of my voyage before opening it, but I couldn’t wait any longer. Inside, I discovered no treasure, only a jar of honey and a photograph of us together. It dawned on me then that this voyage and the real prize were about the importance of hard labor, exactly as Grandpa had always stated.
Tears welled up as I remembered how I had ignored all of Grandpa’s advice. I had been seeking adventures and had forgotten the key lessons he had tried to teach me.
Wiping my wet nose, I reminded myself it was time to start moving and make Grandpa proud. I began constructing a shelter from branches and leaves under a large oak tree. It was rough, but adequate for the night.
The following morning, the brilliant sun awoke me. I pushed through the woods, clutching that metal box like a lifeline, thinking about Grandpa.
Remembering our fishing trips together warmed me up a little. “Slow and steady,” I nearly heard him remark. I even started humming one of his favorite songs, as if he were standing there with me.
When I spotted a bridge in the distance, hope welled up within me. I wasn’t alone in carrying Grandpa’s lessons in my heart. But soon the woodland became a complex maze, and I panicked. Just when I felt I couldn’t walk any further, I stumbled into a clearing and slumped, tired.
That’s when a dog discovered me, and I heard a chorus of muffled voices: “There she is!”
I awoke in a hospital bed and spotted Aunt Daphne by my side. “I’m sorry,” I said, overcome with regret. “I’m so sorry, Aunt Daphne.”
“Hush, dear. You’re safe now,” she said softly.
“I messed up,” I cried out. “Grandpa was right about everything!”
Aunt Daphne held my hand and smiled. “He always loved you, sweetie. Even when you were mad at him, even when you didn’t get why. Remember how upset you were about not getting that smartwatch just weeks before he passed?”
“I never appreciated him or anything he did for me. He was always there for me. Grandpa was both my Mom and Dad after their passing. But I—”
“He knew you’d come around, sweetie. He always believed in you, even when you didn’t believe in yourself.”
At that point, she went into the bag near her chair and pulled out a brightly colored package. My breath caught as I recognized the familiar blue wrapping paper that Grandpa often used for gifts.
“This is for you,” Aunt Daphne said gently, placing the box on my lap. The Xbox I wanted.
“Grandpa wanted you to have this,” Aunt Daphne continued. “He said when you learned the value of hard work and understood the importance of patience and perseverance, it would be yours.”
“I’ll be good, Aunt Daphne,” I promised. “I don’t need this anymore. I have learned my lesson.”
Aunt Daphne’s smile, this time brighter and full of genuine joy, provided all the confidence I needed. I reached to the bedside and took out the small honey jar.
“Would you like some honey, Aunt Daphne?” I asked, offering the sticky jar.
She took the jar, stuck her finger in, and tasted the honey. “It’s sweet,” she remarked softly. “Just like you, Robyn. Just like you!”
Years have passed since then. Now 28, a million miles away from that disgruntled adolescent and a bee boss with two young terrors of my own (who, thankfully, love honey!), I’ve learnt a few things about responsibility.
Thank you, Grandpa. Thank you for everything you’ve taught me. I whisper every time I see the joy on my children’s faces when they eat honey.
That wonderful honey reminds me of the special friendship Grandpa and I enjoyed.
