Flash of Splendor
No matter how often I find the queen bee, it still brings me a small thrill or a warm sense of satisfaction. As someone who spends almost every day in a bee suit, cracking open hives, I am surprised that the flash of splendor I feel at the sight of her does not dull with repetition. She is the sole bee in her caste, an illustrious member of the colony.
Yet every queen bee is unique — not just in appearance, but also in behavior. She can be slender and tiger-striped or fat and golden. She might slither with surprising speed until she is buried under a pile of worker bees or showboat in the open. I love to observe these showy starlets and often linger in my work when they put themselves on display. I’m never certain whether they are basking in the sun or in the glow of my admiration.
It is the work of this single bee — the queen — that makes both a beehive and my career possible. The mother of all the bees in the hive, she tirelessly lays eggs to keep her colony going. She is the focal point of my affection, and I am forever grateful to her for giving me a job.
Beekeeping allows me to revel in joys many people part with after childhood. On most days I am sticky with honey, coated in dirt, playing with insects, and ready for adventure. When I am not tending my apiaries, I teach beekeeping classes, lead tours, and rescue wild colonies. A large part of my mission is to share what I know with others in a way that is fun and accessible, and I hope that I leave my readers as enchanted with bees as I am.
This deep appreciation and fascination led me to a career in beekeeping. Bees fill me with a sense of wonder. Once I started learning about them, I could not stop.
It was a book that got me started. I flipped through the pages with curiosity, but no intention. I wasn’t planning to become a beekeeper, but as I journeyed further into the book, into the world of bees, I was so astounded by their complexity that I was transformed. I had been an art student with a penchant for vintage clothing, and then I was sitting before the scrap-wood hive my dad made for me — mesmerized, a zephyr of wings brushing my face.
That first summer, I filled my backyard with illegal beehives. The city had not yet legalized urban beekeeping, but that didn’t stop me. My paint-spattered clothing became freckled with propolis, and I kept reading. At my office job, I flipped between e-mails and beekeeping forums. I caught swarms on my lunch breaks. My love for bees engulfed me.
Everything about them still surprises and fascinates me. They are sculptors, dancers, mathematicians, and acrobats. From dance-offs to death matches, they never cease to amaze.
At the center of it all is a single queen. It’s no wonder she has transfixed me.
