10,000 Reasons to Care: A Flower Farmer’s Love Letter to Pollinators (and Bees in Particular)
10,000 Reasons to Care: A Flower Farmer’s Love Letter to Pollinators (and Bees in Particular)
Let me tell you a story about how I jumped into something new and became an overly doting guardian of 10,000 bees. Hours into my new odyssey, I confirmed a truism in Chapter 9, “Secret Life of Bees” by Sue Monk: “You can’t be a true bee keeper without getting stung.” But I digress, let’s get back to the love letter to pollinators.
As a flower farmer, I’ve long known that pollinators—especially bees—are not just visitors to the garden; they’re essential workers. Without their time and diligent efforts, my dahlias wouldn’t dazzle, my sunflowers wouldn’t stand tall, my lavender wouldn’t lavish the air with its scent, and most crops would not thrive. Pollinators are partners, plain and simple. But this year, I decided to take the partnership to the next level.
I became a beekeeper.
Or, more accurately, I’m a novice beekeeper seeking to become more nimble around the bees and be a better host. To this end, I assembled the hive with attention to detail, as bees are very particular about their abodes: perfectly leveled, clean interior, and as an extra special amenity, a view overlooking the Connecticut River Valley. There’s a fresh, well water source nearby and rows of Cherry, Peach, Apple, and Plum tree blooms for the taking. And, of course, the pièce de résistance: a quarter-acre of rotating seasonal blooms including the bees’ favorites—sunflowers, dahlias, lavender, buckwheat (cover crop), cone flowers, and zinnias. Although I’m not a Real Estate Agent, I’ve worked with many of them to know that above everything, location matters, and Huckle Hill Farm has a “honey” of a location.
Then came The Day: bee pick-up day.
Transporting 10,000 live honey bees in a duct tape-sealed nucleus box is a confidence breaker. Let me say: there’s nothing quite like the hum of thousands of tiny wings vibrating in the back of the car. At times like these, I appreciate having a wagon. Driving home with the windows open, I was deep in thought about coming face to face with my new partners. Did all my research and preparation matter if I couldn’t control my fear?
Introducing the bees to their hive was like nothing I’ve ever done before. I gingerly peeled back the duct tape, then slowly lifted the top off the box and immediately learned these things:
Bees do not appreciate abrupt movement.
Bees are creatures of habit.
Bees are protective.
Bees like to hang on to your bee suit and hide in unexpected places.
A Bee sting only hurts for a few seconds.
Now, every morning, I walk the field with coffee in one hand and the knowledge that I’m not a solo practitioner; I’ve got a team of pollinators to support my flower production. Watching them, I see a masterclass in democratic living: queens may rule, but every bee has a job, a voice, and a role to play. They negotiate, vote (with pheromones!), and collaborate in ways most organizations can only dream of. Their work ethic is unparalleled and provides incentive to work smarter, not harder.
They’ve also become a kind of unexpected company.
Farming can be a solitary enterprise sometimes, but now I’ve got 2 dogs and 10,000 buzzing coworkers who never take a sick day. They remind me to be present. To pay attention. To stay curious. And to check the hive just one more time … you know, in case someone needs some sugar water. (They usually don’t.)
People ask me why I started keeping bees. I say because the flowers needed them, and the world needs more pollinators, too. But the truth? I think I needed them too. Farming is about nurturing things, from small plants to new colonies of bees. This is what I love about farming.
Pollinators give farmers like me hope—hope that we can continue to support colonies of bees, and they will reciprocate by pollinating our crops and teaching us lessons about partnerships and communities. Now, my only wish is that they could disarm the ticks. Guess I’ll have to look into chickens or Guinea fowl.