Bees Have Knees

It's About Family

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My daughter used a roundabout way to get word to me about a new/old idea and I took to it instantly, with far too little thought. It’s what royalty can do to a person, makes us not think clearly.

My daughter, who has my number, talked to my wife, Debbie, who in turn passed the idea on to me. My daughter had seen Meghan Markle’s show. According to Debbie, the show has some good ideas. One is preparing a lavender-scented towel by filling a bowl with water, dropping in lavender oil and soaking a small towel in the bowl, wringing it and storing the now-scented towel in a plastic bag in the refrigerator. After doing the work, then using whatever free time you have left to go on the hike Meghan suggests you take. After the hike, yank that bag out and slap the towel on your neck to not only cool off but smell better. But, and here’s the magic of good television, you still need a shower because now you smell like lavender-spiked sweat and the great outdoors. In other words, like a cheap date.

My daughter’s idea, taken from Meghan’s show, who took it and repackaged it from farmers’ almanacs and numerous other sources, was, “Ask Dad if he’ll get bees again so we can use the wax cappings to make candles and purify the inside air.” Like Meghan who has behind-the-scenes helpers, she wanted to outsource the hard work. I’m proud that Debbie and I raised smart girls. Who have my number.

I figured getting back into beekeeping would make a good father-daughter activity. Who better to look to for advice on close family ties that Prince Harry’s wife, Meghan?

My daughter building hive boxes

I’d been looking into returning to beekeeping, so the timing was right. Spring was beginning, the weather warming and it’s a good reason to be outside. I don’t smoke, but after working bees, I smell like I do, so I’m popular with the vaping crowd. “Hey, what you hitting?” they ask. “Burlap. Makes a cool, white smoke, with a little honey and beeswax getting on my hands. Which is why they’re yellow, like nicotine.” Then they ask how they can score some and, well you know, things go from there.

Another reason, and this one didn’t exist when I kept bees previously, I’m now a “writer.” As beekeepers well know, domesticating bees to harvest honey is fraught with setbacks, rejections and when they’re really mad at what you’re doing, editorial bloodletting. In other words, as a writer experiencing the same things, I knew I’d feel right at home with thousands of bees packing stings. After being tormented on selling my manuscripts, I’m saying bring it.

The final reason and maybe the tipping point, I live in Texas where summers are hot. The bees are out of sorts and cantankerous and working bees in a bee suit is akin to a few hour tour of Hades. Thanks to modern technology, I bought a ventilated bee suit. Although I haven’t tried it yet in the morning of a hundred-degree day, optimism abounds and I’m wondering if I need to bring a blanket when visiting the bees. See what I mean about how writing shares many attributes with beekeeping?

It’s the Bees Knees- new ventilated suit

I’ve just launched a new newsletter, a companion publication called Trials By Technology, which explores people struggling with technology and science. It’s inaugural piece looks at whether honeybees can teach us about social media. Highly social and family-oriented, bees share many similarities with people. With six legs, each leg having five or more joints, it’s safe to say bees have knees. They also guard the hive and their sisters with ferocity. So much as exhale on the inside of their hive and they’ll come after you, bee suit or not.

Now that I think about all the work to get ready, lavender-scented towels seem way easier to prep than bees. But, I had help, which is the point.

Wild Hive Takes Up Residence

I’ll close with some misandry, which if you’re like me, have no idea what that word means without looking it up. Misandry is the opposite of misogyny, which is pretty hard to acquire if one has daughters who have one’s number. In a beehive, the males, drones, exist solely to mate with a queen. They don’t clean, they don’t help with the food, they don’t help with the kids. They eat the honey, they probably burp and scratch (so do their sisters), and then they go outside to fly around and if nothing happens, they come home and eat some more. If on their flight, something happens with a virgin queen, they’re one and done and they die. In the fall, if they’re still hanging around the hive, their sisters drag them out to die. No time to write a memoir about the kind of treatment they endured.

Prince Harry, who wrote a bestselling memoir about his family problems, must be thanking his lucky stars he was born to a politically insignificant brood of royalty who allows their men to hang around the hive, even if from across a great ocean.

All the Best,

Geoff

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