02/02/07

Last Saturday was my uncle's funeral.

My family is not warm or close like many families are. We go years without laying eyes on each other and never yearn for gatherings. At best we're friends. Not close friends, but friends.

That's how it was with Uncle Don and me. He was my father's brother. We'd see one another at Xmas occasionally and we'd exchange pleasantries. He was a very quiet man. We didn't share any interests, that is until I turned 16.

When I was 16 he brought a hive of bees to my father's place to pollenate his fruit trees. I still remember him standing there with his smoker puffing gently, the smell of the smouldering cedar wafting over me, and the sound of the hive.

The sound was quiet, almost silent.

It was a murmur, a whispering hum. It was a physical thing, with a texture and a warmth I had never experienced before. It touched a part of me that had never seen the light of day. Today that sound is a yardstick for me. I have heard the screaming fury of an angry hive and the cold rasping silence of a dead or dying one. But when I feel that low, slow song I know all is right with the world. I will sit for hours in the spring and listen to a hive hum. I'll sit with my head against the wooden side and feel the vibration work through me.

I can't claim to have had any idea what had happened to me when I felt that vibration. I had no idea at that moment that something had changed in my centre, but it did. He saw me watching and brought over a frame with brood, honey and bees on it and showed it to me. I was afraid with all of those little stinging creatures that close to me but fascinated just the same. They were calm, busy and supremely uninterested in me. The smell fascinated me. A smell unlike anything I had ever known. Earthy, sweet, lovely.  It all tugged at me, pulled at the fibre of me. I asked him if he had another veil and gloves. He smiled, nodded toward his truck and said "I'll wait"

That afternoon he introduced me to the bees. The first thing he showed me was the hive tool, ten or eleven inches of flat steel, about an inch and a half wide with a 90 degree bend at one end. Beekeeping is almost impossible without one, It is your constant companion. The frames are glued together with a sticky substance called propolis made from tree sap. Everything inside a hive is stuck together with it. I held it clumsily and slowly learned how it was used. My hive tool was the first piece of beekeeping equipment I ever bought. I still have it to this day. They are very rarely lost because they are always in your hand, and they will never wear out because all they're used on is wood, wax and propolis.

That afternoon I learned the first lessons. I continued to learn lessons from Don off and on. Shortly after that day I had a hive of my own. My skill slowly increased through triumph and tragedy until today I'm a moderately competent beekeeper.

Don has always been there to answer my questions, offer advice and commiserate during the setbacks. Whenever we got together one would always greet the other with "How are the bees?"

We spent many afternoons in his basement extracting honey. There was always a shared joy as we loaded the warm jars in the back of my truck for the long journey home afterward.

Truth be told, we didn't have much to say to each other if it wasn't related to bees, but we had that, and I guess it was enough. He was always the teacher, he was always there to help me out when I hit a snag. Whenever he came out to visit my dad in the spring or summer he had his gear with him, and he would always come over to my place to inspect the hives with me.

Beekeeping has been in my family for over a hundred years that can be traced, probably longer. One of my cousins is interested in taking over his late father's hives, though I don't know if his soul is in it or not. We don't talk much. 

After the funeral we went back to his house for a family gathering and I took my two cousins aside and asked them a favour.

When I left for home with my own family, tucked inside my pocket was the hive tool.

I can smell his hives on it, it's the same one he had from day one. The same I first held. It is the tool of the master.

I already have my own, and won't part with it, his will not replace mine. I could as easily part with my arm. But from time to time people visit my hives. Fascination draws them there, and I'm always happy to let them discover the sound, the smells and the tastes of those hives. Now, the visitors will have a hive tool they can borrow for a time.

Email me