Bridget is a good beekeeper. |
So call me a harridan, but I was just a little cranky at the suggestion that we should keep bees.
Honestly? We need to mow. We need to battle poke weeds the size of young trees. Brambles, virginia creeper, crabgrass, poison ivy — we got 'em, and we should acknowledge their mastery over us, not think of new ways to get distracted from our bondage.
Take grape vines. Please. When we arrived — unsuspecting, raw converts from the close suburbs who couldn't make the grass grow there, either — we became proud owners of a little grape arbor. A decade later and there are vines growing in the windows à la Walker Percy, a sure harbinger of the end of civilization, all because we didn't know, that first year, of the imperative, ultimate, consuming, and extreme need to mow, and to keep at the mowing, never giving an inch! Yes, we hadn't gotten our mowing concentration up to speed yet, and we'll pay for it for ever.
The Chief doesn't like me to say that we are challenged, keeping up with it all. I appreciate having such a lovely property, but I don't feel worthy of it.
I'm a worrier, and I worry that we are letting it down, even though we do a lot and have certainly made great strides in its upkeep. The house is painted, it has a new roof, we have cleared out a major part of the brush. And lots of other good, really expensive things.
But I feel it judging me. I feel the Tree Guy judging me (you know, the one who characterized my lawn as “a New England farm house yard.” Thanks, Tree Guy. I see what you're getting at).
Phil is a good beekeeper — and note the duct tape. What a guy! |
I don't know what to do about all the things that have to be done. I would rather read a book. And I think he would too. My husband, not the Tree Guy. Who, frankly, seemed himself to be overwhelmed enough not to even suggest a plan to make money off of us. I think he knew that taking down the tree was all the water he'd get from this particular stone.
But it just seemed to me, and I still think this is reasonable, when the beekeeping topic arose, that we should concentrate on getting things under control — things that we were already doing, responsibilities that we already had, two acres and 5600 square feet of ancient plaster — before adding an intensive hobby.
I guess that alone does make me cranky, unless you also consider that I thought that we couldn't afford to launch into a new venture that costs a few hundred dollars to get into, even with the bunch of beekeeping supplies I found at — and, against my own interests, brought home from — a yard sale.
They were free, so even I couldn't resist. I didn't know then that you aren't supposed to re-use hive bodies and supers, on account of the risk of infection. However, as the state bee inspector (yes, there is such a person! He's super nice! And don't tell him I said so, but…he looks like a bee!!) agreed, the things had been unused long enough to pose not much risk, and besides, we had already deployed them. (You will note some mismatched boxes when you look at our pictures, and that is why. Some are new and some are old. But free.)
But bees — they were a dream to him. He would never reproach me. He is all serenity, unless his wife is worrying.
This is all an interior dialogue of my very own making.
And when he did gently push against mean old nay-saying me, I became aware that beekeeping just doesn't take a whole lot of time. You don't spend days in heavy labor, as with gardening. There's no back-breaking work, unless it's the kind you want, because it means many pounds of honey!
You set them up and they do their thing. You could even do some weeding while they go about their business. Heck, they even thrive on weeds!
And then, if you are lucky and patient, you reap the reward.
Yes, he was right. I'm sorry I'm mean. |
So it's okay. It's better to do what you love than to worry about things not being perfect. If we are swallowed alive by Concord grapevines, at least we will go happy.
In the garage, covering up the frames until we could extract, which you can read about in the Honey Harvest post. |
Barbara says
Cute little beekeepers — both of them. I wish I was your neighbor; I'd trade you a lovely handmade rosary for a jar of golden honey. 😉
Kate says
This is encouraging. My husband occasionally talks about keeping bees (which we know nothing about, although I did pick up a covered bee hat at a yard sale). To which I say, “We have chickens, goats, fruit trees, grapevines, a large vegetable garden and a fixer-upper house (not to mention numerous children who need to be educated)! Are you crazy?” Actually, it sounds like from your description of the (relative) ease of beekeeping that it may be something my phlegmatic teenage son would enjoy doing. Your mea culpa has given me food for thought.
Jenny says
It's better to do what you love than to worry about things not being perfect.
This is something I need to remember. Over and over again. Thank you!
Leslie says
Lovely post! Thank you for the bee inspiration! My hubby and I both read “Fruitless Fall” and we both agreed that it would be fantastic to have bees. (If you haven't read the book, you should and you will forever kiss your bee hives daily!)
Kathleen T. Jaeger says
Thanks for the continual encouragement to do what you love than to worry about things not being perfect. Thanks for sharing the inner dialogue and the challenge with keeping up with it all….I. so. get feeling judged by the things! And in Our Land of Many Unfinished Projects, we have begun a tree house. But I think this one will be finished due to the great flurry of excitement regarding the project — for hubby & children & mom alike. If we do what we love, even if we are challenged with keeping up, in the end, I think we'll end up with a life well-lived instead of a life well-wished. That's hope, right? Cheers!
Jill F. says
Leila,
We kept bees many years ago during our brief sojourn in the country and my husband loved it/them! There is something magical about the little beasties isn't there?
I snorted with laughter over your description of the state bee keeper. I just went on an idyllic Boy Scout biking trip to the beautiful San Juan Islands (located just a few hours North of Seattle and absolutely delightful if you ever get over this far West) and while on an island we stopped at an Alpaca farm. The owner of the farm was a nice graying middle-aged man with a snubby nose and a tip-tilted chin which made him look just like an alpaca! Really! So nice to know that there is someone else in the world who notices those things;).
Jill Farris
Milkmaid says
Leila! You so beautifully put into words what's going on in my own heart: the frustration of the spaces around me not being nicer, trying to hold the reins on hubby's latest idea, only to find fun and joy in the fruition of his dreams. So, when will I learn to not drag my heels?