Remember the Bees

As often happens, something unusual catches my eye on Pinterest.  And then I start making associations to it from my life.  And then I end up here to tell you about it.  Well... grab your favorite beverage and settle in, my friend.

Photo from:  thedeadbell.com/

I remember visiting my dad's oldest sister, Wilma (named after their father, Wilford) in Afton, WY as a child.  Where and how she lived was so very different than where and how we lived and there were so many fascinating things to explore!  Until it finally rotted out and fell down, there was a big old barn where her milk cow lived.  I think once it probably held many other animals, but in my memory I only ever see the one cow.  She had at some point stored some household items from when Grandpa either sold the ranch, or maybe after he passed away, in the hay loft.  One of my cousins rescued a shoe box of his letters and pictures that no one else seemed to want for me.  I have it still and it is a treasure!

There was a little stream to one side of the house where, sadly, she'd lost a child to drowning.  I can't even imagine how hard it was to stay there and see it every single day.  With my childish oblivion to her pain its cold, clear, quick flowing water fascinated me and I spent many hours gazing into it hoping to see a fish or a crawdad or a frog.  I don't remember that ever happening, but I was sure that if I watched long enough I would see one.  And I recall that having me out there by the creek gave my mom loads of stress...

I remember Aunt Wilma's African Violets.  She had pink ones, and purple ones and white ones and if they grow in any other shades she probably had those, too.  I think their pots covered every table, counter top and window sill of her house!  And she had a pair of birds in her bedroom.  Some part of me wants to say they were Love Birds, but in all honesty I don't know.

Lately I've been thinking about her and trying to remember more.  I see a little bit of her in me... physically I'm reminded of it when I see the topmost knuckle of my 'bird' fingers starting to turn in like hers when age, hard work and arthritis had worked their gnarling torture.  I hope I can go forward with the same uncomplaining grace she had.

Yesterday I remembered that she kept a bee hive near where you would park just outside the fence around her yard. It seems like it might have started out as a wild hive but she provided them with boxes and good habitat (she kept a yard full of flowers and alfalfa fields surrounded her house) so they stayed.  I know she harvested the honey and used it in her baking.  It was that wonderful clover honey you get from those high mountain deserts out West.  If you've ever tasted it you know that it's different... And if that's what you grew up with, there is no other honey in the world that tastes quite as good!  That was where I learned not be afraid of the bees.  She said the bees could sense your fear and that's when they'd sting you.  In my mind, I can clearly see her standing, completely at peace and almost zen-like, in front of the hive with a cloud of bees buzzing around her.  I guess you could say, like the man described in that clipping, Aunt Wilma 'had a way with them.'

And so to her memory I dedicate the telling of this poem today.

Telling the Bees
by John Greenleaf Whittier

Here is the place; right over the hill
Runs the path I took;
You can see the gap in the old wall still,
And the stepping-stones in the shallow brook.

There is the house, with the gate red-barred,
And the poplars tall;
And the barn's brown length, and the cattle-yard,
And the white horns tossing above the wall.

There are the beehives ranged in the sun;
And down by the brink
Of the brook are her poor flowers, weed-o'errun,
Pansy and daffodil, rose and pink.

A year has gone, as the tortoise goes,
Heavy and slow;
And the same rose blows, and the same sun glows,
And the same brook sings of a year ago.

There 's the same sweet clover-smell in the breeze;
And the June sun warm
Tangles his wings of fire in the trees,
Setting, as then, over Fernside farm.

I mind me how with a lover's care
From my Sunday coat
I brushed off the burrs, and smoothed my hair,
And cooled at the brookside my brow and throat.

Since we parted, a month had passed, --
To love, a year;
Down through the beeches I looked at last
On the little red gate and the well-sweep near.

I can see it all now, -- the slantwise rain
Of light through the leaves,
The sundown's blaze on her window-pane,
The bloom of her roses under the eaves.

Just the same as a month before, --
The house and the trees,
The barn's brown gable, the vine by the door, --
Nothing changed but the hives of bees.

Before them, under the garden wall,
Forward and back,
Went drearily singing the chore-girl small,
Draping each hive with a shred of black.

Trembling, I listened: the summer sun
Had the chill of snow;
For I knew she was telling the bees of one
Gone on the journey we all must go!

Then I said to myself, "My Mary weeps
For the dead to-day:
Haply her blind old grandsire sleeps
The fret and the pain of his age away."

But her dog whined low; on the doorway sill,
With his cane to his chin,
The old man sat; and the chore-girl still
Sung to the bees stealing out and in.

And the song she was singing ever since
In my ear sounds on: --
"Stay at home, pretty bees, fly not hence!
Mistress Mary is dead and gone!"

A World Without Bees

...is a world without food.

Since time began, or at least since it was first recorded, honey and bees have played an extraordinary part in the great myths of humanity.  It's said that bees accompanied Adam and Eve in the Garden of Eden.  And in the mythical Golden Ages honey dripped from trees like falling rain.  In many ancient Near East cultures bees were believed to be the sacred insect that bridged the natural world to the underworld.  Honey was prized as the food of the gods in Mayan cultures and bee and beehive motifs can be found amongst the ruins of honey producing cities.  Even the original name the Mormon Pioneers gave to Utah, Deseret, means honey bee and is symbolic of the quest to create a place of abundance, a land 'flowing with milk and honey.'

Cox Honey Farms of Shelley, ID - my go to source for all things honey - says, "In ancient times, Egyptians sacrificed honey by the tons to their river gods, Roman legions slathered honey on the wounds as a natural cure to promote healing, and medieval lords reserved honey for their private use. It’s told that the body of Alexander the Great was preserved and embalmed with honey."

Honey, and by extension the bees who produce it and in the process pollinate much of our plant-based food sources, have been important to human well-being for centuries.  Intentional beekeeping dates back as far as 700 BC.  Obviously we humans know our lives are better with bees in it.

So why are we participating in the very activities that kill them off?

Recently Whole Foods Market participated in a study, as reported by the Huffington Post, where all the produce that is dependent on bees for pollination was pulled from the floor in their University Heights store in Rhode Island.  This amounted to 52% of the normal product mix!  That should get our attention!!!

Both of the photos, left, are from the folks at unlikelywords.com.

Is this not truly frightening?

In light to the unprecedented collapse of beehives all over the world we should all be terrified about the future of our food supply.  It seems like every week lately we hear about hundreds of thousands of bees found dead somewhere in the world.  The reasons are complex, frustrating and laced with issues that should challenge our personal code of ethics.

Many blame companies like Monsanto for their attempts to control what crop seeds are available to farmers (and home gardeners) and genetically modify food crop plants for everything from faster growth to pesticide resistance.  Others blame beekeeping industry practices like feeding bees on mixtures of corn syrup instead of their natural diet of honey and say the lack of genetic diversity in existing bee populations leaves them vulnerable to parasites like the Varroa mite.  I think it's a combination of all these factors, and the loss of habitat from rapant development, coming together to cause a global crisis.

It's true that I'm no fan of Monsanto.  I see it as wrong to have intellectual property laws govern a living thing.  I'm also not convinced foods produced this way is safe either ecologically or for consumption.  But, not being a scientist, I'm not completely sure this is enough to kill off the bees in the kind of record numbers we are seeing in the past few years.  That's why I think modern beekeeping practices are also contributing to the problem and need to be changed to protect the health of the bees.

And so are we by demanding new commercial developments for our shopping habits and ever more spacious homes.

WHAT TO DO, WHAT TO DO?

As much as I want to write about living in a smaller home and planting a yard full of bee friendly and bio-diverse plant life and the importance of mindfully shopping for local organic produce... I fear that it's not nearly enough.  The problem may already be bigger than individual consumers can effect any change on.  I mean, doing those things can't hurt and they may soothe our individual consciences but I fear it's just not enough.  Not by a long shot.

The real answer is that I don't know how to solve this problem.  And that makes me feel powerless...

I don't like feeling powerless.

I want some sort of solution in my grasp.  Something doable and meaningful.  A list of personal action items, perhaps.

What are you doing to save the bees?

And life as we now know it?