00/01/03

Beekeeping in my family can be traced back as far as my great-grandfather, but probably goes further than that.

I miss it terribly in the winter,there is really nothing much to do with them between October and March. The bees clump into a big ball in their hives and stay torpid during the cold weather. Because I take most of the honey that they collect to feed them all winter, they need to be fed a couple of times. They are given a syrup of sugar and water, into which tetracyclene is mixed to try to fight off foulbrood.

Here's a poem I wrote after feeding them today.
 
 

The hum was a whisper
The snowflakes tickled down my neck and reminded me of their tiny legs
exploring my skin
searching me

The cold bit at my fingertips
on the steel of the hive tool
it felt good in my hand again

The snow reminded me that the bees might need food
I mixed sugar and water
and went for a walk
like a thousand times before
to fulfill my end of the trust

Slowly
taking care not to wake a tired friend
I pried off the lids to pour the sticky fluid around them
a hint of the summer scent welcomed me

The hum was a whisper inside
a reminder, a promise,
not the buzz of spring and summer
heard from fifty feet away
but a gentle hint of sound
like the murmur of a slumbering child
 
 
 

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