I fucking love bees. And you should too. If you’re reading this, you strike me as the sort of person who isn’t that scared of them. But, in case you are a little fearful, let me help. Bees are little fuzzy delights. They do such good work, and they’re beyond interesting to watch up close. This year, sit in a warm summer’s garden, that perfect temperature before it gets too hot, sit by the flowers and watch what the bees do. I promise you that you’ll appreciate their little comings and goings.
Those who know me, know that I’m a self proclaimed “bug guy”. Growing up I was always in the dirt, or under rocks, looking for critters. It would therefore be surprising that in my 28 years on this earth, I’ve never tried beekeeping. So, I got in touch with Andrew Barber, at the Nottinghamshire Beekeeper’s Association. They run yearly courses about beekeeping, combining both theory and practice. Unfortunately I was unable to make the theory classes, however Andrew was kind enough to invite me to some of the practical sessions.
I arrived one sunny Saturday afternoon, at a hidden location, off a main road in the Nottinghamshire countryside. There were 9 of us in total, and those of us without outfits were presented with a pile of beekeeping suits. Among us are 2 beekeepers from the association, a couple who own a smallholding, a father and daughter, and a pair who are building a grove out in the countryside.
We turn a corner and suddenly the air fills with flecks of orange as bees zip past. Andrew presents us with a few of a neat line of boxes, beehives. He lifts the lid on the first, and begins to deconstruct the box, gesturing to the rows inside. People start referencing theory class material — all going way over my head, so I’m just enjoying the abundance of bees.
Above me, there’s a constant static as these miniature teddy bears erupt outwards into the sky. Beneath them, 9 beekeeping suits are hunched over amber rectangles, reviewing the contents of each frame. Inside, we look for pollen stores, nectar, capped honey, and drawn combs.
The prize we’re looking for, however, is in the brood box. Nearest to where the queen is hanging out, the frames are filled with cells, ready to be implanted with future bees. Bees rely on a queen, just like I rely on garlic bread, ie. it’s a fundamental aspect of their being.
So, we started to look for eggs. The frame passes from person to person, and I excitedly point out a few tiny specs of white, hidden at the bottom of the cells. They’re not everywhere, but Andrew confirms it, they’re eggs, a sign that the queen is alive and healthy!
We keep looking, and before long, we spot the queen with a bright green mark on her back. It turns out that there are official colour designations for each year, so beekeepers can tell the age of the bee just by the colour. Before long, we’re packing up the boxes, and those around me are asking interesting questions about the hives.
As we fold up the beekeeping kit, I hear about all these interesting projects the others have in play, ranging from experimental gardens to fully fledged homesteads, with everything from goats to geese. It’s marvelous to be in an environment where everybody is so openly and passionately connected to nature.
The beekeeping course runs from May to July – nearly 2 months.
It feels somewhat awkward to say that I actually only attended one session.
I found that I had absolutely zero drive to go. Don’t get me wrong, it was amazing to see, the people were delightfully interesting, but there was something stopping me.
I didn’t feel like I was in a slump, so what was preventing me from going back?
But… I love bees, don’t I?”
I sat with the conundrum for a while, and came to an interesting revelation. I adore insects, they’re great, better than dogs if you ask me. However, what I really adore about interacting with them is the discovery – not the husbandry.
I’m sure we all had the experience as a small child of lifting up a rock and seeing something wiggling around underneath. That sort of shit is my cocaine. In fact, a few days later, we went out for a walk and did that exact thing, finding lesser stag beetles, newts, and toads.
I shan’t pretend that I wasn’t more emotionally engaged with looking for critters under logs than I was surrounded by nearly half a million bees. I suppose the real lesson here is that it’s not about the quantity of insects, it’s about the quality. Which is the kind of absurd learning I’d hope you’d come to expect from me.
We had a lovely time.
And so I took a while to debate how I was going to angle my disinterest in beekeeping as something exciting (I have to keep you interested, dear reader). I started dwelling on the idea of lifting up rocks and looking under them, and how much more joy I got out of that. I thought about how, as adults, we don’t really spend much time doing that any more, and that this constitutes a real shame.
Around the same time as all this beekeeping malarky, I was learning about Shigeru Miyamoto’s Box Garden (Hakoniwa) principle in game design. There’s another item on ✓ Project Bucket List, by the way. And, it’s a big one. Create a video game.
Much in the same way that an idea struck while on the middle of Ullswater Lake, I have struck upon inspiration.
I’m combining the idea of Miyamoto’s Box Gardens and the experience as a young child of lifting up rocks to look for bugs. These two concepts have now mushed together in my brain like a flash of lightning, and I have started development on my first video game! I’m hoping that I can call back to that childlike wonder of looking for bugs in your back garden.
There’s one half of me that’s solidly disappointed with myself for not following through with the full course of beekeeping, but there’s another which is proud that I’ve got clarity on what excites me about the natural world.
And, if you wish to take anything away from this other than my sheer adoration of bugs, take it as a story of fascination → exploration → realisation → creative output, with a few bees sprinkled in for good measure.