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I wasn’t always a beekeeper. Years ago, I lived in a noisy city, chasing deadlines and dreams that weren’t mine. My days felt empty, like a jar with no honey. Then, one spring, I visited my uncle’s farm. He showed me his hives, told me how bees work together, each one doing its part. I was hooked. I moved to this quiet town, built my own hive, and started learning.
The bees taught me patience. They didn’t rush. They flew from flower to flower, collecting nectar with care. Some days, I’d sit by the hive, watching them come and go. If I was too quick or careless, they’d sting. But if I moved slowly, they’d let me be. It was like a deal between us respect for respect.
The first time I tasted their honey, I laughed out loud. It was golden, warm, and sweet, like summer in a spoon. I shared it with my neighbors old Mrs. Clara, who smiled for the first time in months, and little Tim, who licked his fingers and asked for more. That honey wasn’t just food. It was joy, bottled up from the flowers and the bees’ hard work.
But the hive wasn’t just about honey. It was about belonging. The bees didn’t care if I forgot to comb my hair or if I spilled coffee on my shirt. They let me be part of their world. When I felt lost, I’d go to the hive, listen to their hum, and feel steady again. They reminded me that life doesn’t need to be big to be good. A small garden, a wooden hive, and a jar of honey were enough.
One evening, a storm came. The wind howled, and rain battered the hive. I worried all night, thinking of my bees. In the morning, I ran outside, expecting the worst. But there they were, buzzing as if nothing had happened. The hive stood strong. My bees were tougher than I thought. They showed me that even when life shakes you, you keep going.
Now, every jar of honey feels like a gift. It’s not just sugar it’s the bees’ hard work, the flowers’ colors, and the quiet moments I spend with my hive. It’s the sweetness of finding a place where I belong. My hive isn’t just wood and wax. It’s my home, my peace, and the honey in my life.
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Oh how lovely and beautiful! I miss the bees and the garden that we shared... And now in this new place and time in my life, I'm planning to make little bitty homes for the little bitty types of bees who live here and make a powerful, treasured, highly medicinal honey. They don't sting although some species bite...I intend to make houses for them inside my own house, so that they're well protected in winter. I dream of opening up the windows and doors before the sun comes up every day for them. I lived in a cabin a few years ago which had bees living in the wall.. It was a wall near the chimney and so they would become active when they shouldn't, in the night time. In the mornings I would get up and find them seemingly dead all over the cabin. But one day, I realized that most of them were alive and if I picked them up and breathed warmth into them, they would revive. I could then place them in a sunny spot until the day warmed up. A few of them stung me, if my energy was not properly calm and heart centered. But only two or three times during that winter. More often, they wanted to stay with me or with my body heat.. And if they were lively enough, might fly back from the flower I'd placed them on, to land on me somewhere. I've made friends with a species of the little wasps who live in these parts as well. I'm told they have a very painful sting, but I wouldn't know. The way it happened is that I thought they were some sort of flying ants when they first came as a swarm and landed all over me. So, I thought they were harmless and I felt nothing but wonder and joy. Then I made a photograph of one and researched them. Since then I have had an ongoing relationship with them in various and distant places... They came into my house every day and visited with me all day when I was in the garden, during a drought time, about four years after our first meeting...I would leave little bowls of water for them in the kitchen and when they would land on me in the garden, I knew that they wanted a drink and would give them water in my palm.