One year, the drought came. Not the usual dry summer, but a scorching fist that closed around the land and squeezed until the streams wept dust. The wildflowers shriveled. The bees grew sluggish, their buzzing a low, mournful drone like a far-off funeral chant.

As I approached him, Yiannis looked up from his work, his eyes twinkling with warmth. "Welcome to my world," he said, his Greek accent rich and soothing. "I'm glad you're interested in the art of beekeeping. It's a life of passion, hard work, and sweetness."