On the way to work today, I suddenly saw several more tents in several places on the side of the road. The tent was lined with a lot of wooden boxes. This year's beekeepers are quietly coming again.
The group of "beekeepers" I have known for a long time. I've known each other since I was in elementary school. Because the school is independent at the foot of the mountain between the two villages, the school is surrounded by a large field. In winter, rapeseed and broad beans are grown. So, ever since I was in elementary school, there have been beekeepers in that field. They were in the field, about twenty centimeters in length, and in the fields they began to frost in the early morning, and in the early spring when the rapeseed flowers were in full bloom and just about to bear seeds. Come silently, walk quietly.
In my childhood cognition, this is some free and free people. A tent, two children, a motorcycle, some beehives, baking the warm winter sun every day, opening the hives to see. Then build a beehive, cook around the stove, and eat. The men also drank some wine every night. The food seems to be good. At that time, motorcycles were a very strange means of transportation. It's also the first motorcycle I've ever seen. And when I was a child, I always thought: When I grow up, I will also raise a lot of bees, so that I can eat honey at any time.
When I became an adult, after working, I slowly realized that every seemingly free person has a deep weakness in their hearts, and they are also carrying a family responsibility on their shoulders.
A tent, a motorcycle, a lot of beehives, mostly two people together. Only now there are a few more pieces of solar energy next to their tents, and the tents have changed from canvas from decades ago to removable movable tin rooms.
The locations they chose were mostly sunny and slightly open on both sides of the road. Many times those beehives that pass by in the morning can be seen with white frost. Next to the tent was a small table with the words "Honey, xx yuan" and some large bottles and small jars of honey packed.
It's just that at this time, I don't feel their freedom anymore, not the beekeepers who have changed. Rather, I realized what it takes to be free in life.
Every year on my way to work, there is such a group of beekeepers who come here. My transportation also changed from the original motorcycle to a trolley, and I would slow down every time I passed by their tent. Looking at the bees flying in and out, the psychology is always inexplicable. Sometimes I wish I was one of the people who came in and out, and sometimes I felt that the pollen on the legs of the bee should also be sweet. When the night is hazy, looking at the beekeepers who are still turning over the hives, the blurred shadows in the sky are fleeting.
Life is bitter because there may be wind and frost; life is sweet because there is someone to accompany it; life is busy, because there is hope because of hard work.
When spring comes, the mountains turn green and the fields turn green. The beekeeper, silently, left again. Maybe it's going home to see their children and parents who haven't seen each other for a long time, or maybe they're rushing to the next place where flowers bloom because of their lives and responsibilities.