My grandparents have been cultivating the perfect enchanted forest in their backyard for years. In the warmer months, they spend hours outdoors refining the edges of their bushes, trimming flower stems, and lounging in the gazebo. When my grandma isn’t busy building Dahlia bouquets, she’s crafting fairy houses from moss and stone; whereas grandpa is always adding a new tree to the lot and walking us through to show off the new shade bringers, saying things like “This one is purple!” and “This one, this one will be taller than anything else in the yard 15 years from now.”
They have fountains that finches bathe in, blueberry bushes beaming by mid-June, and a designated “nap shack” situated in the sky via a wooden stair incline up an old walnut tree.
Looks beautiful, right? Now, imagine if you were a bee.
I have been trying to convince my grandparents to get a hive for quite some time, and they are never quite convinced that their slice of paradise could be a home for honey makers. I can hear my grandparents’ voices through the paper as I write this.
“Why would we get a hive box? The bees are coming here without one anyways.”
The proof is in the pollen. The bees bless the garden on a daily basis during the growing season and by building a permanent residency their flower yield would increase. Plus, who doesn’t love the idea of a little bit of honey being added to sweeten the deal?
When I was seven years old, I had an aluminum swing-set in my backyard. On a hot summer day, I realized that I had made a dire playtime error by leaving the grass and climbing onto the swing. I shoved off from the ground as hard as possible. I didn’t know the wasps were waiting.
After a series of stings and sobs I declared that all bees must die and anyone who disagreed with me was an awful supporter of the tiny yellow and black flying beads of evil.
My Deedah came to the house with a lighter and asked my mom to borrow a can of her hairspray. In mere moments, the interior of the aluminum set was ablaze and the entire hive demolished by flames. Charred insect carcasses littered throughout the piping. Not a single survivor. Deedah smiled and handed the hairspray back to my mom before hugging me, “There you go, no more nasty yellowjackets to bother you. Be more careful next time! Wasps are angry little buggers. You would’ve been fine if it were a honey or bumble bee.”
But by this time, I had cemented the idea in my mind that all bees were bad, so I shook my head. How could he defend a creature like that? Something so primitive it attacked with no reason. Something that took over my play area and then decided I was the enemy. Something so, so, so…
Seeing that I was clearly upset, my Deedah took it upon himself to explain to me that not all bees are the same, and we wouldn’t be able to survive without them. They are responsible for so much that has helped us over the last 200,000 years, and they themselves have been here so much longer!
I began researching bees, the desire for gaining more knowledge about them waning and growing throughout the years. At Lewis-Clark State College, they host classes in the summertime for kids—one of which that I took, was all about bugs.
Here, I was taught about several insectoids and began an irrational fear of butterflies after I found out that some species suck up blood from dead bodies that are left out in the open- some bees do too. I also learned that bees operate on a hierarchy system- they are more like us than we give them credit for.
Last year, I learned of a company called Flow that specializes in creating quality products for the beekeeping community. They invented a new system of extracting honey from hives by producing “Flow Frames” which use partially formed comb cells as a base for bees to fill with honey and cap off with wax. When the frame becomes full, the clear design allows the user to see that it’s ready for harvest. By completing the actions of the product guide, one can release a flow of honey through a trough to collect from a tap. This process has revolutionized the game for many keepers, and it’s the hive I am continually recommending to my grandfolks.
It took me a long time to get over my fear of the honey makers. Even with all the research I was doing, I still held reservations about all kinds of bees because of getting stung when I was younger. I have often believed that this experience, common enough, is also applicable to how people view their relationships with others.
“When we get stung in life, we want to see anything else that is capable of that action as being an immediate threat to us.”
When we get stung in life, we want to see anything else that is capable of that action as being an immediate threat to us, when in reality, that couldn’t be further from the truth. It is a dangerous game to play, assuming the worst intentions—whether it’s with insects or people.
My grandparents have been cultivating the perfect enchanted forest in their backyard for years. In the warmer months, they spend hours outdoors refining the edges of their bushes, trimming flower stems, and lounging in the gazebo. They have crafted the perfect environment not only for the bees but for themselves. They have made a home together that gifts them flowers and berries and beauty because of their love and labor.
I just think adding a few more bees could make that beauty last a bit longer, and I could never pass on sharing a bite with a friend of a fresh-cut biscuit covered in love-laced honey.
For more information regarding the company of Flow and their hive selection, visit honeyflow.com.
