the bees.

This has been a journey, let me tell you.

It started with a beautiful dream, an unknowing innocence, that for real ignorance that you can only claim before you get to know the situation. In my mind bees were enchanting and magical, creative and daring. Their secret, intricate world fascinated me and I felt compelled to create a home for them on our land. Surely they would be grateful and return the favor with an abundance of honey and the blessing of their cross-pollinating talents…surely.

We spent too much money on the endeavor, really. In the furthest corner of the yard we built what we now call the bee garden. Amish-made, wrought iron, waist-high fence with a matching arbor where we planted clematis. Flowering plants lining the exterior of the fence, with mulch and a stone landscape border. Andy built a platform that keeps the hive off of the ground and applied a special spray on the legs that prevents ants from climbing up. I ordered and assembled, in full, a Langstroth hive (courtesy of Hoover Hives) all by my onesie. I took a beekeeping class, and bought all the accessories and ordered one Nuc and we were off. Never mind that I’m truly terrified of bees.

For those of you who don’t know, a Nuc is like a mini hive and is a pretty standard way to order bees. It comes with a full colony which is roughly 5k bees, their own acclimated queen, eggs, larvae, drawn out honeycomb, pollen and honey itself. Everything they need to get to business and get that honey made! And all you have to do is drop the frames into your hive and they’re on their way. Sounds easy, yes?

Nerp.

Boy, did I sign up for it. These gals are picky, and fragile, and particular. I couldn’t find eggs, I never saw the Queen and the only evidence I had that they were maybe doing alright was that they were still alive and large in number. I had no idea what I was doing, I couldn’t find anyone to help me, and didn’t have the slightest clue where to begin. My first Nuc was also super angry and aggressive. They’d fly at my face, despite the smoker, and one even got it’s little stinger all the way through some thick (albeit not beekeeping) gloves and our relationship hasn’t been the same since. I was incredulous! How could they be so ungrateful?

That first season ended with me making a terrible decision to spray weed killer in our yard, without even considering that the bees wouldn’t like it one bit. Bad idea, yes, but (even after everything I’d done for them!) they left because of it. One wrong move and it was over. I was heartbroken, I took it personally and I wasn’t keen on repeating the efforts ever again.

However, the following spring rolled around and for some reason or another, I went ahead and bought a full 10-frame, pre-started hive. I was reenergized, spirit renewed, hopes afresh, willingness restored!

I’ll keep this section of the story short and sweet, who needs the suspense? At some point, I lost the Queen and spent the subsequent 6 weeks attempting to get the colony Queen-right. I bought a new Queen, which they didn’t accept—this hive was more aggressive than the last—and then purchased another Queen which they also wouldn’t accept. As a result, they slowly died off and disappeared altogether while we were on vacation last fall. Thus ended my second season of beekeeping.

Again, incredulous. Again, personally offended. Again, not keen to repeat the effort.

So this idiot over here, on round three bought not one, but TWO bee packages this spring. Two! Just balls to the wall, I literally doubled down after my first two attempts having gone so well.

One might ask…why? Let me explain.

Some people (Andy) might describe me as resilient—which sometimes, in my case, translates to not knowing when to quit. In this particular situation, I guess it means I’m still trying to keep bees. I still believe I’m supposed to. As I continue to deepen my relationship with the earth I am convinced she needs our assistance, or at least awareness, whatever it looks like. And, though it’s frustrating and I don’t rightly know why, I think it looks like doing things like this. Just might be signing up for anger management as a result.

The good news is, due to the happiest of accidents, I have an amazing mentor this time around. He checks in regularly and asks all kinds of questions and helps me consider things I would never have otherwise. I’ve been forced to approach this with a completely fresh perspective that says, in sum, “I don’t know shit. Please, for goodness sake, show me.” That seems to be working so far.

This season, I’ve gotten to identify eggs for the first time ever, have seen Queens in both the hives four out of the six times I’ve opened them. The honey flow has been strong this year, and it would seem, so are both of my hives.

You’ve got a cautiously optimistic beekeeper here…I’ll just have to keep you posted. In the meantime, maybe don’t quit that thing that’s knocked you down hard a few times. It just might work out, and either way, you’ll learn something from it.

Even if it’s just to know when to say, “I don’t know shit.”