Lessons from the Bees

I am amazed how often my honeybees find their way into conversations. People are fascinated with them. They love hearing about the charming society of bees and learning how they can help in the effort to “save” the bees. Movies about bees have even been block buster hits. Truth be told, bees lead relatively ordinary, uneventful lives. Yet their simple, genuine, harmonious world is one we humans yearn for ourselves.

We can all learn from the bees. I certainly have. Or maybe it is not the bees themselves, but the act of caring for them that guides me down this path, as I slow my pace, listen, absorb, and come closer to my Creator. No matter the catalyst, I thought I would share some of the secret life lessons my honeybees have revealed.

Learning is meant to be a lifelong endeavor.

Anyone who knows my story knows I got into beekeeping because it was supposed to be a piece of cake. I never signed up for this mammoth learning curve. But the challenge to become better is addictive. This summer, I discovered I can be a better beekeeper by combining hives rather than caring for a dozen that are a result of splits or swarms. While a queen is sacrificed in the process (one queen is killed when two queen-right colonies are combined), I will likely harvest more honey and have more robust hives. This summer, I also learned about laying workers—a kiss of death for the colony—and the value of regular inspections to prevent it.

Far as I have come, I have touched the tip of the learning iceberg. There are seasoned veterans in my bee club who have forgotten more than I have grasped. I am committed to learning, though, and becoming a master beekeeper.

Make learning a priority across your life. Be curious. Learn a new skill. Be the person who becomes better and wiser with age. Your days on earth will be fuller with a pledge to learn.

Preparing the smoker for an inspection. This year, I started using dried lavender stems and lemon grass from my gardens to create an aroma that is more pleasing to bees and to me.

God takes care of me—and my bees—even when I do stupid things.

…Like haphazardly handle frames from a hive that swarmed because I am 100% sure there is no mated queen running around to injure. Then, low and behold, there she is, perched on a frame I carelessly tossed aside. Thank you, God, for protecting her from my stupidity and reminding me to be careful every single time I work with the bees.

…Or move like a bull in a china shop to capture a baseball-sized swarm wearing my bulky, he-man gloves. I managed to corral maybe one or two bees without harm, one being the queen. Luck? No, this was an act of God. I named that queen Anais, a French word meaning gracious or merciful. I have subsequently split that colony into others, one of them in my apiary today with a queen named Annalise.

…Or know something should be done during an inspection, like adding a queen excluder (prevents her from laying eggs in top honey boxes), but have no time or energy to find the queen and move her to the bottom box. Then, in the process of rebuilding what I have torn apart, notice her majesty walking across the TOP of the frame I am holding. What are you doing there? You should be deep in a box I have no intent to inspect. Chance? No way, God wanted me to see you so I could proceed with plans.

Over the years, I have made poor choices and been utterly inept. Despite it all, God has cared for me and blessed my life.

I have learned over the years to go with the flow to better enjoy the process of tending bees.

Beauty can be found in everyday things.

When I was 20, no one told me life would be so hard. No one told me there would be days, months, or years it downright stinks. Because of trials, I have learned to appreciate the small, truly beautiful things in life, like watching the bees and spending time in nature. There is peace in watching them tend each other, fan a hive on a warm summer evening, drift among flowers to collect nectar and pollen. The scent of a hive full of fresh honey is intoxicating. Honey slathered on a warm slice of homemade bread is a culinary delight that will surely be found in heaven.

Take time to breathe slowly and deeply, celebrate everyday miracles, revel in time with family and friends, and appreciate your beautiful, messy, and less than perfect life.

Teamwork pays dividends.

I have learned first-hand that creatures the size of your pinky can successfully defend their home against invaders a thousand times their size by working together. How many times have I regretted cracking open a hive too quickly, moving too fast or coming off as a threat? All hell breaks loose in a matter of milliseconds and a couple dozen guard bees are glued to my suit. And if one finds success with its stinger, they all head the same direction. Pheromones released in the process essentially say, “Hey everybody, here’s the spot.” And because she dies when she stings, a honeybee lays down her life for the greater good of the colony.

Yes, it is nice to be recognized for skills and achievements as an individual. But your greatest work comes from unnoticed efforts or those done anonymously. Did you help in time of need, step up when no one else would, listen, or been a shoulder on which to cry? Deeds for others and community create a meaningful life.

Everybody is important.

Bees do not judge nor are they above any menial task. Even the high and mighty queen can be replaced if the community thinks she is doing a poor job, like laying eggs in a spotty pattern (which creates more work for everyone). Every bee job keeps the colony functioning as a well-oiled unit. In fact, bees perform a variety of careers across their lives, from their first jobs as nurse bees to their last as guard bees.

Better teaching this moral from an early age might lead to a kinder, gentler, and more compassionate nation.

A peek inside a 10-frame hive being lightly smoked for an inspection.

Go with the flow.

Life is much less stressful when I take situations as they come and let the bees be bees. I have discovered there are no absolutes with bees, and, apparently, they do not read their own instruction manuals. While the books say they will swarm when they are living in cramped quarters, they will also swarm living in a palace. I have added boxes, split hives, and removed swarm queen cells to prevent swarms with zero success. When their hearts are set to “abscond,” they will fly the coupe sooner or later.

Unpredictable, unmanageable behavior like this causes angst for beekeepers, especially Type A personalities like me. While organized, analytical, thoughtful, and precise has a place, sometimes I must trust the bees know what they are doing.

Yes, losing half the hive to a swarm is a big deal. Yes, losing a hive over the winter is heartbreaking. But the lessons help me become better. And letting go allows me to enjoy the process of keeping bees and become more attuned with Mother Nature.

Though I do my best to plan and make wise decisions, much of what happens is beyond my control. I have more internal peace when I pick my battles and don’t sweat the small stuff.

And finally, don’t be so hard on yourself or others. Most of us are doing the best we can.

I named my blog The Bad Beekeeper with good reason. I have made many “mistakes” over the past five years. I am rethinking the decision to use 10-frame boxes rather than 8-frame boxes, and my apiary was swarm haven and honey bust last year. I am doing better this year. Maybe, as one of my mentors suggested, I am not a bad beekeeper, just a learning beekeeper.

None of us go to the grave without struggles or challenges. Do your best to be your best, but then call it a day. Celebrate how far you have come and keep going. Life is not about the destination, but about the journey and who you become along the way.