My late grandfather bequeathed me an ancient, dusty apiary along with stories of hidden wealth. Who puts their grandchild in a shack full of insects? Up until I looked inside the beehives, this horrible joke of an inheritance felt like a slap in the face. Aunt Daphne reaffirmed to me one morning, “Robyn, Grandpa thought you would be strong and independent.” He left those beehives? They will not take care of themselves. I objected, saying, “Look, Aunt Daphne, I am afraid I will get stung!”

She retorted, “You will be wearing protective gear.” “Fear cannot hold you back. “I reluctantly walked up to the hive, intrigued but afraid. While gathering honey, I found what appeared to be Grandpa Archie’s faded map inside a ruined plastic bag. Into the woods, excited, I followed the map. I arrived at the old gamekeeper’s house from Grandpa’s tales by following well-known routes. “To my dear Robyn, inside this box is a wonderful prize for you, but it is not to be opened until your journey’s true finish,” Grandpa wrote in a note found inside a gorgeously crafted metal box.

I obeyed Grandpa’s request and went on my journey despite the temptation, eventually becoming lost. I remembered Grandpa’s instruction to keep cool and pushed on. I was so tired that I fell into a clearing and a dog came across me. Voices said, “There she is!” Aunt Daphne was at my bedside when I woke up in a hospital. “I apologize,” I sobbed. “Grandpa was correct in every way!”

Aunt Daphne gave me the assurance, “He always loved you.” “He anticipated your recovery.” Years later, while I manage a prosperous apiary and bring up my kids, I think back on the principles that Grandpa taught me. “Grandpa, thank you!” I mutter as I see their happy expressions when they eat honey—a wonderful memento of our relationship.