She was fascinated by bees and dreamed of owning her own hive. Could that dream possibly come true in middle of the city? One family’s beekeeping adventures
“Slow down!” I exclaimed suddenly. “Look at that.”
The upcoming driveway was flanked by an unusual mailbox; it appeared to be an old, splintered beehive.
We pulled over on a grassy bank and my husband, 13-year-old son, and I climbed up the steep driveway on foot.
We grew increasingly sure we were in the right place when we reached a small fig tree surrounded by stacked hive boxes and encountered a little boy named Tzuf (Hebrew for “nectar”).
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