A little girl of less than eight sits at the big picture window in her grandparents’ farmhouse. She watches as a man dressed in strange clothes makes odd movements that will later remind her of tai chi class. She’s been told it’s her grandpa, and a little while later, he returns to the kitchen in his normal clothes with a big bowl of dripping honeycomb. Her grandma gets busy transferring that golden sweetness to the large glass jar kept in the pantry. This is the one sweet treat the family allows the little girl to indulge in!
As you guessed, this is my first memory of all things bees and honey. From then on, I would be friends with the tiny buzzy creatures that made such heavenly syrup. I never had a chance to work the bees with my grandfather because we lived so far away that we only visited the farm once a year. And my grandfather got rid of his bees before I became interested in helping him.
Just how does one who isn’t raised around bees become interested in beekeeping?
I was born in Denver, Colorado, to parents who hailed from Wisconsin and were very much into nature and doing things the organic, natural way. I tease that my mom was a hippie flower child because we were not allowed to ingest any processed sugar, including jelly or chocolate (only honey and carob). How many of you had a mom that fed them natural peanut butter, honey and banana sandwiches? Our friends thought we were so weird. ?
My parents’ version of fun was driving my sister and me into the mountains to fish, camp, and hike. My Dad loved to fish for trout and going fishing with him was always like a biology class and field trip. This led to us leaving Denver when I was eight and moving to the small mountain town of Glenwood Springs- which I am forever grateful for.
My paternal grandparents lived on an 80-acre farm in central Wisconsin, having immigrated from eastern Europe in 1950. They believed in organic agriculture and naturally tended to their huge garden, orchards, forests and hay fields. Everything was homemade, natural, and sweetened with honey from my grandfather’s beehive. I mention these factors because I believe they had a direct effect on my personality and helped me grow into a nature lover.
I recall that as a child, while most other children had a terrifying aversion to bees, I had already been taught several truths that helped me forge a positive relationship with them.
- Bees do not attack humans out of the blue.
- A bee stings once and dies. Wasps sting multiple times.
- Remain quiet and calm when a bee approaches, and you likely won’t get stung.
- Bees can be “held” and gently touched.
- Honeybees make honey!
And thanks to Disney cartoons, my sister and I believed we could have friendships with the bees. So I was the one calming down the other people when a bee came near, or saving bees trapped in windows. I could just tell the bees knew I didn’t want to hurt them.
That being said, I did not like getting stung by bees, and it had happened on several occasions. It’s just that I didn’t have a morbid fear of being swarmed and attacked by bees- I feared needles and vaccinations much more than bee stings.
When I was a young teenager, I often took walks in the mountains with an “adopted” grandma named Eleanor, who had a severe allergy to bee venom. Eleanor always carried an EpiPen for emergencies. Her gentle, Native American character deeply influenced my sister and me, as she taught us about bees and nature. I was impressed by her fearlessness, her love for animals, bugs, and flowers, and the importance she placed on caring for even the tiniest creatures, including the stinging ones.
I’m not quite sure why, but every time I have seen a show or photo with an apiarist attending to a beehive, I have been enchanted. I was so drawn to the idea. While handling dangerous stinging creatures, one could control them with smoke and by remaining calm. It seems so peaceful and therapeutic. I love the relationship between the keeper and the bees. Not to mention the honey! I had also heard that honeybees were on the decline, and I thought buying a beehive could help. But, our busy/traveling lifestyle and the fact that we lived in apartments or townhomes, did not allow me to even entertain the idea of being a beekeeper.
However, once we moved to North Carolina and I started seeing beehives on every country road, I thought this “bee idea” could happen. My nostalgic dream of being a beekeeper could possibly materialize! So during the pandemic I began to research the cost for obtaining a beehive. I will admit, the price seemed high. But imagining myself selling jars of honey at the local flea market made me dream of getting my money back. And just like reaping rewards from a garden, I couldn’t wait to harvest and eat my very own honey!
So a particular bike ride on a spring day in my neighborhood led to the next step…
