{"id":64830,"date":"2023-03-09T13:08:21","date_gmt":"2023-03-09T18:08:21","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/www.themainemag.com\/?p=64830"},"modified":"2023-03-09T13:08:24","modified_gmt":"2023-03-09T18:08:24","slug":"wisdom-from-the-backyard-beekeepers","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/www.themainemag.com\/wisdom-from-the-backyard-beekeepers\/","title":{"rendered":"Wisdom from the Backyard Beekeepers"},"content":{"rendered":"
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For most members of a honeybee hive, daily activity revolves around gathering pollen and nectar, two vital sources of food for the superorganism. During the late fall, winter, and early spring, nectar isn\u2019t available, so bees instead focus on yellow drifts of pollen from Maine\u2019s many trees.<\/figcaption><\/figure><\/div>\n\n\n

The honeybee is adaptable. It knows how to survive frigid winters, how to extract food from unlikely sources, like the mouths of blueberry blossoms, and how to navigate using the light of the sun and the magnetic pull of the poles. The honeybee can fly, dance, and hold its breath underwater for five minutes. It can move house, if necessary. It can move from climate to climate, and often has. The honeybee has thrived on every continent save one\u2014but then again, we can\u2019t blame it for not loving Antarctica. Few species do.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Good beekeepers are, like their wards, adaptable. Not just because they\u2019re stewards of swarms, a famously strange phenomenon that we only partially understand, but because the Earth\u2019s ecosystems are both delicate and resilient at the same time. One small change\u2014a single-degree rise in ocean heat, for instance\u2014can cause a cascade of disasters (which we still term \u201cnatural,\u201d even though it\u2019s becoming clear they are consequences of human activity). And yet, massive, sweeping changes can occur\u2014animals can lose food sources, plants can invade and take over, storms can strip trees and fell giants\u2014while life continues on. The system shifts, accommodates, adapts.<\/p>\n\n\n

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Inside the hive. Modern movable-frame hives were invented in 1851 by a Philadelphia inventor, Lorenzo Langstroth, and his cabinetmaker friend, Henry Bourquin.<\/figcaption><\/figure><\/div>\n\n\n

We\u2019re living in a period of rapid change. In the 1960s, a group of Soviet scientists proposed the theory of a new geological epoch, which has been termed the Anthropocene. The name follows the pattern of previously named epochs (the Holocene, the Paleocene), with the root anthropo- meaning \u201cof or related to human beings.\u201d There is no specific date for the dawn of the Anthropocene; it began when people started having large-scale effects on the various systems of the globe. While it\u2019s not universally recognized\u2014according to most geological scientists, we\u2019re still living in the Holocene epoch that began after the last ice age\u2014the idea that our time on Earth is unique feels true to me on a gut level. I believe that climate change is happening, that people caused it, and that we\u2019re also causing all sorts of transformations in the material world. Bees are just the tip of the (melting) iceberg.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

But our world is changing in other ways, some of them positive. Let\u2019s start with a feel-good story, one about the people who tend hives and harvest honey, before we dive into the plight of bees. \u201cWhen I first started beekeeping, the folks who got the most attention were always that Burt\u2019s Bees type,\u201d says Thalassa Raasch, who has been keeping bees since they were a teenager living in rural Minnesota. \u201cMy view of the industry was limited, but it seemed male-dominated to me. And I think they encouraged that\u2014there was a certain image of who a beekeeper was.\u201d While I\u2019m sure there are many lovely gentlemen beekeepers with bushy beards and locomotive hats, it\u2019s heartening to hear that centuries-old agricultural traditions are welcoming in new blood.<\/p>\n\n\n

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Beekeeper Thalassa Raasch helps their client look for the hive\u2019s queen.<\/figcaption><\/figure><\/div>\n\n\n

\u201cPeople think of beekeepers as old guys with a hive,\u201d agrees Meghan Gaven of the Honey Exchange, a Portland-based business she co-owns with her husband, Phil. When we spoke, the Gavens had recently returned from the Maine State Beekeepers Association annual conference, where they had a chance to survey the crowd, mingle with newcomers, and discuss advances in bee science. Meghan and Phil have been beekeeping for 15 years, running the store for 11 years, and teaching beekeeping classes out of their Portland shop for a decade. Recently, they\u2019ve noticed both an increase in would-be beekeepers and a shift in the classroom makeup. These days, their classes are female dominated by an estimated three-to-one ratio. \u201c2020 was our biggest year in terms of interest in beekeeping,\u201d Meghan says. \u201cBut 2021 was a close second.\u201d During the pandemic, many people came to the Honey Exchange looking for a new hobby, a new way of interacting with the natural world, maybe even a new community to make up for the ones that broke down out of necessity and caution.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

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Beekeeping is a science and an art, a place where human intervention bumps up against animal instincts.<\/h1>\n<\/blockquote>\n<\/div><\/div>\n\n\n\n

According to Meghan, this changing of the guard isn\u2019t merely good for optics. It\u2019s a much deeper shift than that, one that resists easy identification or description. \u201cThere are teenagers keeping bees now. Nine-year-olds. Women, men, older people, parents. It\u2019s everybody, anyone you can imagine,\u201d she says. \u201cEvery county in Maine has a beekeeping club. It\u2019s a huge cross-section of people. You may not have anything in common except for bees, but it\u2019s a great way to connect.\u201d I\u2019ve heard similar sentiments from passionate hunters, fishers, hikers, and gardeners. Spending time in nature allows for easy connection to others and the forging of bonds that cross tricky political lines. Nature can be a healthy \u201cthird space,\u201d one that exists outside typical social boundaries and norms. Plus, research has shown that diverse groups are better at problem solving, and there are always problems to solve when it comes to bees. Experienced beekeepers can mentor the newly passionate, and beginner beekeepers can bring fresh eyes to entrenched problems.<\/p>\n\n\n

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Beekeeper Luca Germon knocks bees off a frame before reinserting it into the hive. This hive is in the backyard of the Honey Exchange in Portland.<\/figcaption><\/figure><\/div>\n\n\n

In 2022 the biggest problem facing farmers was the summer drought. Ponds, rivers, and lakes around the globe dried up, and Maine, a place famous for its abundance of fresh water, wasn\u2019t entirely spared. The drought was less obvious than in other places, but our soil dried out, our rivers sank low, and wells rang empty. Without water, flowers continued to bloom as they always did, but they didn\u2019t produce enough of the sweet, complicated, enzyme-rich nectar bees adore.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Honeybees can survive for some time without nectar. In fact, it\u2019s common practice for beekeepers to supplement the diet of the hive with trays of sugar. Bees aren\u2019t making their honey for us; they\u2019re making it for their superorganism, their colony. When we remove their food, we have to give something back or they\u2019ll starve, and the beekeeper will have to start again with a new swarm. Thus, beekeepers stock up on syrup and sugar cakes, the two best delivery methods for sweet, simple calories. While some studies have suggested that bees overwinter better on a diet of cane sugar than they do on reserved honey (it has something to do with their poop schedule), they don\u2019t like to eat it all the time. It doesn\u2019t have the same amino acids, proteins, ions, and lipids that bees find in nectar. It isn\u2019t good for the baby bees, and bees that are consuming it don\u2019t make very good honey. Some beekeepers don\u2019t even consider this thin, watery yellow liquid honey at all, it\u2019s such a pale imitation.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

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1. While there are some costs associated with starting a hive, many novice beekeepers are able to source used equipment for their hobby.
2. A swirl of honey; if bees don\u2019t have enough calories they\u2019ll \u201cgo backwards on their honey,\u201d which is the expression beekeepers use when bees eat the honey before people can get it.
3. Honey takes on flavor from the nectar of local plants; with an explosion of knotweed in Maine, more local honey is taking on a characteristic nutty taste.<\/figcaption><\/figure>\n\n\n\n

This is one reason Maine\u2019s beekeepers have been embracing an unlikely ally: invasive plants. Knotweed, hated by many gardeners for its impenetrable root system and tendency to overwhelm local plants, blooms in the fall at precisely the time when foraging honeybees are in storage mode, gorging their two tiny bee stomachs in anticipation of winter. \u201cFor bees in this area, knotweed is the plant that gets them through winter,\u201d says Meghan. \u201cAnd it makes great honey.\u201d She offers me a spoonful of knotweed honey, dark and thick. It has a faintly nutty aftertaste\u2014it\u2019s less herbal than the wildflower honey I\u2019m used to, and somehow sweeter than the Ohio honey my father-in-law makes each summer. It\u2019s not better, but it\u2019s a different flavor, rather buttery and less botanical.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

While it\u2019s normal to talk about the terroir of wine, the placeness of that beverage, it\u2019s always been easier for me to taste the specifics of land in honey. As the climate of Maine changes, the plant life will shift, the honeybees will find new food sources, and our honey will change its flavor to reflect this new world. Yet Maine State Apiarist Jennifer Lund cautions that knotweed may be doing more harm than good. \u201cIt outcompetes our native species,\u201d Lund explains. \u201cFor two weeks, it provides good food for insects, but because it\u2019s pushing out other plants that would flower throughout the summer and fall, it\u2019s creating gaps that bees have to struggle to fill.\u201d It may not seem like a big deal to have dense clumps of knotweed growing alongside telephone lines or in highway ditches, but that same soil would have once been home to a variety of flowering weeds, grasses, and bushes. Though it has to be said: not all of them are native to Maine, either\u2014nor are honeybees themselves.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

If I sound a bit torn about invasives, that\u2019s because I am. Some invasives are delicious to forage, like Japanese silverberry, while others look gorgeous, like rambler rose and burning bush. The golden knotweed honey was delicious, and I understand why beekeepers are happy their bees are fed, even if they\u2019re feasting on an intruder.<\/p>\n\n\n

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In the back room of the Honey Exchange, Germon cuts the caps off the honeycomb before they place the frame into a centrifuge that spins the honey free of the comb.<\/figcaption><\/figure><\/div>\n\n\n

It\u2019s harder to be sanguine about the prospect of frozen honeybees. Ironically, colonies are dying of cold thanks to global warming, and the way in which this happens strikes me as nothing short of tragic. Historically, honeybees kept warm in cold weather by clustering together and vibrating to generate heat. Thanks to some evolutionary magic, the clump of bees knows how to rotate its members. Everyone gets a turn to flutter in the warm middle of the clump, and everyone gets a turn cooling off on the outside. The size of this group depends on the weather. Cold days require big, dense clumps of bees. On warmer days, the hive can spread out and move around. They can even go outside to relieve their guts, maybe forage for food, get a little breathing room\u2014whatever it is that bees do on their time off.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

But when the weather turns on a dime, plunging from balmy 70s to frigid 20s, honeybees don\u2019t have enough time to regroup. \u201cIt used to be that January was cold, with a few slightly warmer days,\u201d says Lund. \u201cBut now we have wide fluctuations where we are rapidly changing temperatures. And the bees don\u2019t know how to accommodate that.\u201d Their instinct is to cluster and form smaller buzzing balls with whomever is nearby. Some die outside the hive, others die inside. They get cold, sickly, ill. Their lives are cut short, and the beekeeper is left wishing they\u2019d known to insulate their boxes or remove an excess frame.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

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While many people think beekeeping is a low-effort hobby, bees actually require frequent checkups. Beekeepers must treat for mites, cover the hives on extra-cold days, track the movements of the queen, and supply supplementary food when there is none available in the wild. Maine State Apiarist Jennifer Lund suggests that all would-be beekeepers take a course before committing to raising the insects. \u201cIf you can find a mentor, that\u2019s even better,\u201d she adds.<\/figcaption><\/figure>\n\n\n\n
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The idea that hexagons are one of nature\u2019s most efficient and compact shapes for filling a horizonal plane was first proposed in 36 BCE by Roman scholar Marcus Varro, who called it \u201cthe Honeybee Conjecture\u201d; it was later proven by U.S. mathematician Thomas Hales.<\/figcaption><\/figure>\n\n\n\n

Drought, cold, unseasonable warmth, lack of food\u2014all these issues get exacerbated by the presence of mites. It\u2019s one of the leading causes of colony collapse in Maine, yet many beekeepers (particularly the traditionalists) don\u2019t treat or test for them. Mites are the first challenge mentioned by every beekeeper I speak with, and perhaps that\u2019s because it\u2019s such a frustrating topic. \u201cIt\u2019s mites, mites, mites,\u201d says Meghan with exasperation. \u201cThat\u2019s the biggest problem beekeepers have. They bring disease, they weaken the colony, and they make bees less capable of surviving cold seasons or lack of food.\u201d Thao Kieu, a South Portland\u2013based beekeeper and visual artist who once worked at the Honey Exchange with Meghan, echoes her mentor: \u201cMy bees have been weak this year, and I wonder if it\u2019s because of new beekeepers. If the people who just started don\u2019t treat for mites, that would explain why my colony is suffering.\u201d It\u2019s frustrating, agrees Lund, to see so many people disregard the opinions of the apiary experts, who recommend treating for mites before they appear and regularly testing hives. \u201cPeople often say, I don\u2019t see them, so I don\u2019t have them,\u201d says Meghan. \u201cBy the time you see them, it\u2019s too late.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

But that\u2019s the thing, isn\u2019t it? Beekeeping holds all the drama of the globe, writ small. There\u2019s an increase in diversity among beekeepers, a decrease in diversity among plants, new viruses, old prejudices, droughts and famines and danger of collapse. It\u2019s a traditional practice that is only just recently becoming truly inclusive. Beekeeping is a science and an art, a place where human intervention bumps up against animal instincts. For people like Kieu, it\u2019s more than just a hobby. It\u2019s a philosophy. \u201cI\u2019ve become a bee nerd, and I take so much pride in that. It\u2019s a way of living, to understand how everything is interconnected,\u201d she says. From Phil and Meghan and her other beekeeping friends, Kieu learned to see her hives as something to emulate. \u201cA honeybee hive is badass,\u201d she says. \u201cIt\u2019s feminist. It\u2019s so interesting, the dynamics of a hive and how it translates back to our functioning.\u201d For beekeepers to thrive, the insects have to be healthy, the plants have to be watered, the atmosphere must be considered, cleaned, healed. It\u2019s part of a whole entangled system, one we\u2019re still learning how to navigate\u2014one we may never completely understand. \u201cBut that\u2019s the joy,\u201d says Lund. \u201cWith bees, there\u2019s always something new to learn.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n

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\u201cA honeybee hive is badass. It\u2019s feminist. It\u2019s so interesting,\u201d says beekeeper Thao Kieu. <\/figcaption><\/figure><\/div>\n\n\t\t
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