Planting Thoughts of Beekeeping

In the spring of 1843, my great-great-great grandfather, Nelson Prewitt, wrote in his farm journal that he had 12 hives on his farm.  I don’t know if his hives increased over the years, but in the 1860 agricultural census, he is recorded as producing 5 pounds of beeswax and 100 pounds of honey. Armed with this fun (but not very important) fact, I headed off to Beekeeping School this past Saturday in Maysville, Kentucky.*

A Bee Keeping class, circa 1906. Image from that dizzying repository of images, Pinterest.

I can’t take credit for this weekend educational experience – my husband, a city boy who has adapted very well to farm life, found out about the school and signed us up. As an avid gardener, farmer’s daughter, and the descendant of two 19th century bee keepers (my other great-great-great grandfather, Nelson’s elder brother by four years, also kept hives. He was a bit more aggressive production wise, and doubled Nelson’s output in both beeswax and honey in 1860.), I’ve always wanted to keep  bees.

The 1904 edition of the American Bee Keeper.

It only  took about an hour for a new fact to displace my feelings of bee keeping destiny: keeping bees is hard. Now, I was stung by a nest of angry hornets when I was 12 years old, so I have a healthy respect for all stinging insects – I can still remember how my hands more than tripled in size due to the swelling. But getting stung just goes with the territory if you keep bees – bee stings aren’t the hard part.

If you pay any interest to the natural world (and reliable news sources) you’ll know that bees are in trouble. That makes keeping bees a bit more problematic than it was in 1860.

The role that bees play in pollinating cannot be overstated.

Not only do you have to make sure you can keep your bees alive and healthy over the winter, bees must be treated for varroa mites. These parasites should have their own horror movie, for what they do to a bee colony is nothing short of disastrous and tragic.

A 1940s depiction of bees and a bee skep.

Then there is the cost of obtaining the proper equipment – and securing some bees. At least in our location we won’t need to put up electric fence to keep out marauding bears – a hefty cost one of the instructors must endure…but much better that than seeing the destruction wrought by said bear!

Beekeeping class, 1936. Image from the University of Kentucky Agricultural Experiment Station negatives.

I still want to keep bees – though we won’t be anything but hobbyists for quite some time. I love the idea of having our own honey and maybe getting enough to share with family and friends – but perhaps the most exciting part is the anticipation of adding new plants to my still very new garden.

Yes, I know the bees may fly 1 to 2 miles to feed and completely ignore my efforts – but that’s alright. Any opportunity to dig in the dirt and add more beauty to the world around me is worth it. And when I walk out of my front door and see one great-great-great grandfather’s house, and spy the other one from the back of my farm – I also feel quietly satisfied that in an ever-changing and slightly mad world, there is a thread of continuity. And the bees need all of the help they can get.

*The beekeeping school was hosted by the Licking River Beekeepers Association, which is a “non-profit organization dedicated to the keeping of honey bees, informing others about the importance of honey bees in agriculture large and small and encouraging others to become bee keepers.”