bee sting memories

I have only been stung by bees 3 times in my life.

Sting 1: summer camp at Camp Seagull, on the shore of beautiful Lake Charlevoix (at least that’s how I remember it being described), and a black wasp stung me right above my upper lip (you know, like nature’s own philtrum piercing!). We were on the tennis or basketball court or something with an asphalt surface, maybe green asphalt. I didn’t get a full sting, I remember swiping it off before full penetration (sorry, couldn’t resist). I remember black body parts, the dead wasp, and also remember needing to have the stinger taken out with the famous baking soda paste we all love. I was probably 10 or 11.

Sting 2: on my way to work as a banquet waitress. For one year before I bought my 1920 dream house on Willow St, I rented a little white, cement-block house at the end of a cul-de-sac (College Court) in Kent, Ohio, and I got a full bee sting, I think to my foot, maybe before I put on my ugly black waitress shoes. We had to wear a white top, mine always busting at the buttons across my chest, tucked into a black skirt, and we had to wear nylons too back then. I remember the feeling of the venom coursing through my body. It took a while before the sensation of the juice going through was over, still felt it in the car, even once I got to my shift, maybe it took a few hours ’til I could no longer feel the effect. The name of the restaurant escapes me, but it was on Rte 91 in Hudson. Oh, no, I remember–The Pub.

Sting 3: Paul and I on our way to Ogunquit, Maine for a 2-night anniversary weekend. Just over the NH line into Maine, on Highway 1, we stopped at some sort of naval ship memorial, but before we got out of the car, I felt a couple of stings low down in my posterior crotchal region (I know crotchal is not a word, but we use it around here anyway), no lie, like an itch, but stronger, and then definitely another one and more pronounced.

I went into the bathroom and, lo and behold, in my undies was a teeny-tiny dead bee, those really little ones you see sometimes and recognize as bees but aren’t sure because they are so small and have never stung you. I sat on the poor thing, what choice did it have? I had 2 red spots from that one, somewhere near my butt crease on the right. or left. who can remember these details?

In Germany, there is a cake called bienensteich, “bee sting,” my cousins know how to make it. You find it in all of the Backarei, es schmeckt sehr gut! Lecker! Lecker!

♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦

on another note, I wanted to post a good photo of the cherry tree in my back yard, since Thankful Thursday’s photo was not representative of the true color and beauty and abundance of the blossoms. Here’s a shot of the same tree from a couple of years ago:

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Thankful Thursday “Queen of the Sun”

I’ve already gushed about this on Facebook, but I’ll repeat:

This was a fantastic movie and it is where my gratitude goes today. I suppose I can be silly and say thanks to the bees. Thanks, bees. Thanks filmmakers, thanks women, thanks men, thanks beekeepers, thanks organic farmers, thanks to those who refuse to use pesticides on anything whatsoever, thanks to brave, stouthearted folks who are willing to defy the odds and understand complexity and interdependence.

Wow, Thankful Thursday just began to feel suspiciously like a rant in reverse. Sorry. I really did love the movie and it really made me happy. I am blessed, too, to live in Western, MA, the “Happy Valley,” next door to “Paradise City,” first state to legalize same-sex marriage, some of the most fertile soil in the US along the Connecticut River, and home to many small, organic farms, fruits, vegetables, and livestock included. Raw milk, local honey, local maple syrup, local eggs from my neighbor. HUZZAH!

Happy that my kids learn beekeeping at their school. A new calf was born 3 weeks ago to Heatherbell. He has a white heart on his forehead. It reminds me of the Cat Stevens’ song “Boy with the Moon and Star on his Head.” Remember that one, flower children?

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May Your Never-failing Treasury Be Filled with Boundless Stores of Grace: Beekeeping and the Class of 2010

On the last Friday in May 2010, I was able to accompany and photograph Hartsbrook’s 8th Grade students during their final Agricultural Arts class.

It is customary for each Hartsbrook class to begin a study of Beekeeping with Nicki Robb in the fall of the 8th Grade year.

Beekeeping is a complex art, combining ancient farming techniques and the science of keen observation with a deep understanding of what is natural to the bee. The beekeeper must become a steward of nature in order to reap the benefits of the hive in the form of that most sensuous and mysterious of substances, honey.

The weather on this particular day was the best of the week, not as hot as it had been earlier, but sunny with a slight breeze. The beginning of beekeeping class found the 14 students donning their bee-proof Tyvec suits. After this somewhat elaborate ritual, they followed Ms. Robb to the hives at the back of the campus. The 8th Graders were instructed to be as still and quiet as possible and to approach the hives only from the back in order to avoid interfering with the flight path of the bees. In groups of 3 or 4, the students carefully removed the cinder block weights from the tops of the boxes. Having been taught to listen to the sound of the bees’ humming in order to assess the mood of the hive, the teenagers were transformed from chatty and excited to quiet almost immediately. Next, they carefully pried up the frames to observe the combs: to see if there was honey, to observe its color and quality, and to notice if any chains had been created. After their observations were complete, the frames and boxes were put back in reverse order. A final “bee check” with a brush was performed on each student and the space-age suits were stripped off with happiness and relief.

Having never been near a living hive of honeybees, I was in a state of awe for the 45 minutes or so that we spent there. Time was suspended in the sunshine and whispering breeze of the morning. The frames oozed with a liquid, golden light. I was never afraid of being stung, but rather soothed by the hum and buzz all around us. Nicki stood in front of the boxes and I was astonished at the hundreds of bees flying halo-like around her, to and from the hives, both as if none of us existed, but also as if they were there simply for our pleasure and beholding.

After I removed my own bee suit, I spent some time in the Great Room looking over the class’ final work displays—the material “honey” of 8 years of a Hartsbrook education.

I spent about an hour paging through Main Lesson books, poring over poems about the animals of Africa, reading about the properties of light and atmosphere, drinking in the splendor and colors of dozens of watercolor paintings, and admiring the wooden toys and handmade dolls. I was amazed at the material declaration of knowledge and beauty and at the incredible amount of industry that went in to each child’s work. It is more than I can contain in my mind at once even now.

When I ventured back to join the class, they were gathered in the shade of a huge tree, listening dreamily to Ms. Robb. Once her lecture was complete, Nicki asked the group which of Hartsbrook’s resident farm animals they would most like to visit for the remainder of the time. The resounding answer was, to my surprise, “THE GOATS!” The 8th Graders rarely, if ever, have a chance to visit the animals during the school day and this was obviously a final gift from their teacher.

In the presence of the goats and our resident donkey, Francesca, the class was transformed from a group of sophisticated teenagers into young children again. I watched as their hearts lightened. Tenderness and joy overtook them as they fed, petted, and played with the goats and Francesca.

Hartsbrook’s 8th Grade Class of 2010 had an educational path that was forged by not one, but three, different Class Teachers. This provided them with unusual and unforeseen challenges but also opportunities for flexibility and growth. Ultimately, the situation allowed the class to become intensely bonded to one another and to have a strong spirit of perseverance in the face of external pressures. I thought about this during my final time together with them. This class did become a hive unto itself, as any of its teachers could tell you.

The day was certainly blessed and I knew it was a gift to be in their presence as a group for the last time. While I overreach to apply metaphors, I still have this wish for them: May your days forever ooze with golden honey as you fly from the geometry and industry of your Hartsbrook hive and venture into whatever awaits you.

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