The COVID-19 pandemic has taught us so many life lessons in recent months. Chief among them is that nature is in charge in so many profound ways. Our lives have been upended as we’ve struggled to weave and dodge in response to this forceful infectious disease. Jennifer Bristol is here to remind us that we should always be mindful of the many ways in which nature is, indeed, a powerful teacher.
Jennifer Bristol reports that she lives with her goats, chickens and dog Riley in Bristol, Rhode Island. She is a farmer, a writer and, in her heart, a keeper of bees.
In the late blush of afternoon, the zinnias bloom. A forlorn cluster of honeybees are gathered beneath an old wooden chair in my garden and I wonder if they are confused – where have the hives gone? Where is the queen? What happens next?
I have been a beekeeper for four years now. Early days included some degree of fear; followed by a deepening respect and curiosity, and a passion for bees that took precedence over family gatherings, sleep and sometimes my grocery budget. I love honeybees- how hard they work, how colony decisions are made for the greater good, and how much they get done in the short lives they lead. My brain exploded with hands on learning and life expanded too, blessed with a new circle of friends, other keepers whose passions matched mine, a colony of my own with big hearts, curious minds and generous spirits.
Recently, some new lessons learned. Outside my front door, I encountered a solitary honeybee who, having gotten tangled in my hair, stung me. As I entered my kitchen, my hands and mouth itched. My face felt swollen; I was sweating and dizzy. I chewed two Benadryl, and with symptoms increasing, administered an EpiPen from my beekeeping first aid kit; I called a friend. He called 9-1-1. In the ambulance yet another EpiPen injection, other medicines, semi-conscious, heart rate crashing, and my inner dialogue repeating “I can still be a beekeeper”.
Attending doctors were sympathetic but clear. I have developed an allergy to honeybee stings (and maybe other stings as well). It is life threatening.
My beekeeper friends picked up my home hives before dawn a few days later, transporting them to the apiary they would now call home. They were quiet as they worked, each aware that what came next for me was likely no more beekeeping- ever. Their concern was palpable. And I will forever love them for the tenderness with which they handled me and the bees that morning.
Darkness falls on the honeybees gathered beneath the old chair. Like each of us isolated within the new normal of Covid-19, they will do what is needed to survive. Their instinct guides them to rest and continue their journey only when safe to do so. Once again, I find myself following their lead. Life lessons brought to you by Mother Nature- and the honeybee.
