For Everything there is a Season.
In January of 2009 my father went to that great deer stand in the sky. Him and I had made our peace a number of years earlier so I have few regrets and many, many great memories. My father and I share a trait of an insatiable curiosity of the natural world, and an always-there urge to be doing something. To the day my dad died he was planning deer stands to put up, "if he could just get some young help, to help".
In the spring of 2009, I remember sitting alone on my truck's tailgate, looking out over Turkey Creek, thinking about my dad and thinking about things I had always wanted to do, but never seriously considered as job, kids, and other "more important" issues crowded out these dreams.
One of those dreams was to raise bees, don't ask me why, but for some reason bees fascinated me. That day, sitting on the tailgate, I decided I was going to be a beekeeper. I didn't know anything about beekeeping, or where to get bees or equipment. I think my dad gave Jesus a nudge, 'cause when I mentioned my predicament to Matt Starrett a friend at work, he replied, "My dad's a bee inspector for the state of Ohio, he can help". Matt's dad went into full blown "teacher mode" and patiently told me what I needed to buy and the timeline I had to get up and running in the spring. He then asked where I lived and I replied “Milford”. He asked if that was close to Nappanee, I said, “about 12 minutes away”. He said there was a beekeeper named
Danny Slabaugh
who sold everything I needed and was pretty knowledgeable about bees. He recommended I contact him and gave me a phone number.To make a long story short, Danny became my mentor, letting me peer over his shoulder as he went through hive after hive after hive, inspecting and checking for possible problems. As he pulled up each frame he would repeat the story the frame was telling him; too many drones running around, too many drone cells capped, capped brood spotty, aha!, queen cells capped and brown down on the bottom of frame #4 ! This hive’s gunna either swarm or the old queen is on her way out! Whereas at the end of an inspection I could write everything I observed on the back of an envelop, Danny could discuss for 10-15 minutes or more what he had noticed.
I wanted to be just like Danny – a real live bee whisperer if there ever was one. I’d go over to his shop after work, putting on my crinkly new, head-to-toe bee suit, my to-the-elbow new bee gloves, in my one hand my big new shiny smoker puffing more smoke than a steam engine on a rocky mountain upgrade, and in my other hand a new “improved model” hive tool. Danny would eventually come out from the shop wearing flip-flops, cut off jeans, a tank top. In one hand a black and dented smoker that looked like a down-sized version of a cowboy’s coffee pot. He’d look me up and down and then say “Lez-go” and off to the nearby hives we went. I loved it, he was, and is, a walking encyclopedia of hands-on bee knowledge. I occasionally work bees without a veil or gloves, but to this day bee stings are very painful and the itch and soreness can last 2 full days. Generally I just wear an old, white “church shirt” and a veil with gloves. It’s a trade off, with gloves you don’t get the stings, but you never develop the ability to manipulate a frame covered three-deep in worker bees who are not really thrilled with what your doing. Watching Danny reach bare handed deep into an overcrowded hive to retrieve a queen cage I inadvertently dropped is really something. Confident gentleness takes on a whole new meaning. Eventually, the after work visits petered out as I had my own hives to tend.
bobb
(More later, The Early Years)
Eyelid sting,
My very first bees, May 3rd 2009,
The Michelin beekeeper
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