From the undeveloped site on Blake Island, you follow the path about a hundred yards to get to fresh water. When I rounded the corner the sun was just going down, a string of moored boats bathed in golden light. As I walked I could hear the whine of rubber on rumble strips in the distance, eighteen wheelers on I-5, no doubt. But how could that be? Here I was looking west, with an island between me and I-5, five miles away. There had to be another source, so I started looking around. It didn't take long to discover that the din was coming from the bushes themselves--it was bees!
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