Late last September I was backpacking a particularly rugged, remote section of the Nantahala National Forest when I entered a clearing and my legs went electric. I knew immediately why: bees, lots of ’em, all digging into my apparently tasty ankles. And I knew immediately that my trip was over and it would behoove me to skedaddle as quickly as possible. Over the years I have developed an allergic reaction to bee stings, and as is the case with bee stings each successive one tends to be worse than its predecessor. The last time I’d been stung, the previous summer, a bee flew into my nose while I was mountain biking. Within minutes my face had swollen to the size of a basketball.