On Saturday I will take my Beginner Beekeeping Course offered by the Cornell Co-operative Extension. Beekeeping is something that I have wanted to do ever since I read, The Secret Life of Bees by Sue Monk Kidd.

I adore how the character that is the Queen Beekeeper explains that in order to charm bees you must walk with a presence of love. The idea of overcoming any fear, to just present myself as I am, with all of the love and respect that I can muster is equally inspiring and terrifying. This is a mandate for all of life, not just bees. While I would like to think that I walk this way about the world, I know myself better than this. And while I won’t always get stung approaching the day cranky and oblivious, I will always do more harm than I realize.

I am also excited to earn the trust and walk amongst a community of another species. To be given the grace of acceptance by creatures that have nothing to gain from me and more to fear than I can imagine… and yet they do… humbles me almost to tears.

A few years ago I was snorkeling in Puerto Rico when I came upon a school of bright blue fish. They were just moving with the current, and so as not to disturb them, I just floated along beside them. Initially they moved away since I was a large predator type of a thing, but then they encompassed me in their world. We just dipped and swayed along with the water together. I had been accepted into this world of which I had no real business being in, and yet it felt as if I had lived there my whole life. In that moment, I wanted nothing more than to continue in this fluid connection. And in a blink, the current shifted, the fish darted off and the moment was gone.

Will they teach me how to commune with bees on Saturday? Probably not, although learning what behaviors to expect, how to care for them and what equipment is necessary are equally as important. As for the communing part, much like living with the rest of the planet, I’m going to have to get out there and figure it out for myself.

And something tells me that that I already know how it is done.

Tags: Bees, Family, Winter

(this is a picture of the extra grippy treads that I add onto my winter boots)

This is odd for me. Really odd. I’m the one putting on extra layers in June because it is only 70 degrees outside. Poor Brian will go through a shirt an hour and I’m just starting to think it is toasty.

With the temperatures dropping below zero, last night it got to around -4 degrees, everyone is talking about how cold they feel. Honestly, it really doesn’t feel all that cold to me. But then ask a pre-school teacher if they think it is too noisy in the hallway.

Brian, his brother Joe and my daughter just left for ‘The Farm Store’. The Original Applebee’s store is located up in Westerlo (or maybe technically Berne) and is everything you’d imagine a ‘farm store’ would be. A huge barn working as a retail store, the parking lot is usually lined with pick-ups getting feed loaded into their flatbeds. Everyone that works there (all 2 of them) not only know us by name, but they know everyone in my family, just about every bird that we own (they sold them to us), how old our dog is, and what we planted last year. Liddy even calls us to remind us that we need to put orders in and then calls us back because she knows we already forgot.

Parker and Merry tolerate the farm store because there are toy horses there, but in the spring especially because sometimes they get to peek at the baby chicks that are waiting to be picked up by new owners. Brian LOVES the farm store because it has an entire Carhartt section. (Carhartt is the tough canvas wear that carpenters, farmers and hipster posers like to wear.) He fell madly in love with his flannel lined Carhartt cargo pants so much so that I think I might have to hose him down in the yard to get them clean since he never takes them off. For Christmas he got all excited to buy me my very own pair, but I declined. I’m holding out for the overalls.

Since his brother is up from the city, he was excited to take him to Applebee’s. City folks love the farm store. I’m not sure why, but whenever anyone comes to visit us, they get all sparkly over going. I like watching them wander about the store searching for something, anything to buy. I guess it has something to do with keeping some of the country with you while you’re in the city.

I get that.

It generally takes visitors about 2 days to get the city out of their system before they begin to flow at our country pace. Back when I was living here with the girls and Brian was only here on the weekends, he would just about get himself to vibrate at our level when he had to jump onto the train back to the city again. It wasn’t a pretty sight. I expect that the same will happen this weekend to Brian’s brother Joe.

I see it every time someone comes to visit. They get here and, much like our dog, look as if they need to run about in the yard to get the last anxious energy out. Then they kinda just stare off into space, as if they are finishing a thought that they never really started in the first place. This vacant haze tends to hang for about 12 – 14 hours. At about this point, people start to get sick, if they aren’t already when they get here. I think it is the city purging from their systems. After much good food, fresh air, wine, conversation, a good night’s sleep without the sounds of sirens and dump trucks in the background, and maybe even a farm project or two — they all come around. Then, it is time to go.

I worry about Joe and Annie and all of my city friends. I worry about them like I’ve worried about my peacock as of late. It is cold out there… too cold. The environment is harsh and while it is livable, it isn’t exactly a best case scenario. I know that I can’t take them out of the city, anymore than I can put a sweater and booties on HeyZeus. I also know that this is me projecting how I feel. Maybe they love the city and it lights up their spirits like farming does for me.

But maybe, just maybe, it is too cold, too harsh and they are doing what they are doing until they can just get warm again. And maybe that is what we do for them here. Maybe we make them warm again. We fill up their tummies with warm comforting food, fill up their minds with sunshine and maple syrup and fill up their spirits with wood fires and quiet starry nights. Then we tuck in their scarves, zip up their jackets and send them back out into the world.

I hope so.

Tags: Family, Winter