My bee story happened a few weeks ago, and actually FEELS like it happened forever ago, since I’ve just arrived back in bustling, metropolitan Austin. But that’s ok, because if it was written too closely to the incident, it might have a frightening undertone. So, here we are, and, alas, it will instead be told in loving retrospect. Because the last thing I want this story to do is make one bitter against bees, and make one dismiss them as nothing more than little stinging monsters. So, ahem, a disclaimer: bees are nature’s friends. They’re crucial open pollinators, and very important for the world of natural agriculture. The world needs bees. Oh, and they’re disappearing. Rapidly, I hear. And if you’re on 50 million “eco” listservs like I am, you’ll know too that it’s a panicked-filled issue.
Besides–and I know, I’ll get on with the story soon, be patient, ok?–it’s not their fault they’ve bred with Africanized bees and now they’re alittle, um, fiestier. They get alittle riled up when you mess with their bee boxes or hives, that’s all. I went to a lecture of Malcolm Beck’s (organic gardening writer and guru), and he talked about how he liked keeping wasps in his garden for all of these pest control reasons, and how he could now pretty much pet and play with the wasps like dogs if he wanted to. ….I don’t know how this conveys my case trying to get you, dear reader, to not hate bees, but my point is….well, just don’t hate bees! Love them, learn to live with them, and if you’re a brave soul, learn to be a beekeeper. I hear it pays well, because most people are scared. I know I am. Long live the beekeeper!
My story goes like this: All of us farm volunteers had a class on beekeeping. The beginning was a lecture, safe and protected in the walls of the strawbale education center. I sat, furiously scribbling notes on the fascinating world of bees. In fact, I couldn’t get enough of their tiny, captivating lives. And when our teacher announced we would all be going out to find the queen bee, well…count me excited!
We marched up the hill to the stack of bee boxes, all of us armored with the black screen hats, except for two who stayed behind to wait their turns due to the shortage. Then, the teacher began; slowly, one by one, unstacking the boxes. First a few bees started buzzing around. Then a few more. Then–a lot more. I’m pretty sure he was talking about finding the queen, how he didn’t usually have this much trouble, but I had stopped listening. I was getting freaked out. And I mean FREAKED OUT. And since we had just learned about bees and their dependence on pheromones, I’m pretty sure my fear was radiating out of my body, and, therefore, utterly detectable.
Then I felt the sting. On the back of my “protected” head. And then another one. Feeling behind in a panic, I realized the screen hat was never really sealed in the back. And then what did I do? I ran! (So stupid, never run! Learn from my mistakes!). I ran and took off the mask screen thing. ALSO stupid. Of course, bees followed me. The other two waiting volunteers saw me and what must have looked like a cartoon swarm of bees around my head, because they looked scared. Real scared. One hit my head in an effort to kill one, but hurriedly said, “Oh, sorry!” Sorry? I thought, Heck, keep hitting me! Infact, don’t STOP hitting me! If you knock me out at this point, that’s ok! I had probably gotton 10 stings or so, and, after a few minutes and a lot of smacking of the head, finally ran down to the intern house, where I immediately took benedryl and applied ice.
Ok, it was pretty terrifying. I tried to tone down the actual horror that was this story, and I think I sort of succeeded, but obviously, this doesn’t make me want to keep bees. I don’t care how fascinating their lives are, I can’t do it. I can’t! But I really admire people who can and will. Albert Einstein once said something about if the world loses bees, we’re all in big trouble. So: for pete’s sake, people, save the bees!
