How to find love

Wait.

Or rush into it. 

Or have too many cranberry + vodkas then hold your boss' hand (which is what I did). 

No matter how you go about it, when you find love, you just know. That's how I felt about my boyfriend - turned - husband, my fetus-turned-son, and scary-bees-turned-amazing-loves. 

My love for honeybees is recent, but feels like it's been part of me for eternity. To this day, I've never even been stung by one (I've also been repeatedly reminded that bees don't bite, they sting.)

The first time Patrick mentioned owning a beehive, we were living in a small apartment in Boston, so when I busted out laughing, it was presumably because we didn't have the space. I hate anything with wings (including butterflies) and anything that crawls (except for babies). When I see a fly in our house, I kill it in the cruelest way possible, a la Dexter, leaving it wherever it succumbs to death as a message to all other flies: "Lose all hope ye winged creatures who enter here." 

When we moved into our current house, the subject of bees was broached again, this time, more strategically: "So....my birthday's coming up...." After convincing me that the bees would not swarm around our little baby and feast on his blood, I caved. We picked them up in late April last year - it felt like we were picking up 3,000 babies to take home with us. Then, I, She Who Hates Bees, drove in a car with thousands of them in the back of our hatch back - only a few feet away from my precious boy. Am I the best wife/worst mother, or what?! 

Patrick shook them into their new home, closed the lid, and, then we waited to see if they would stay or swarm.

I passed by them everyday on my way to and from the car. I watched them make their orientation circles. The way they took off like little airplanes in perfect lines. Noticed any little bee on the many sunflowers we planted, wondering if it was ours. We were so happy when they didn't swarm. They liked the home we gave to them. 

Over the next several months, I watched all of their activity and called Patrick with new updates: "There was one crawling on the brick path!" "There was a big one on top of a little one - is that how they do it?" "SO MANY BEES!!!" 

I slowly, yet suddenly, fell deeply in love. 

Then, we waited for honey. Finally in late August we harvested the first batch. And if I wasn't in love with them before, I was completely infatuated after tasting their honey. 

Honey extraction, in and of itself, is a simple process: remove honey-heavy frames, uncap the cells to expose the honey, whack those frames around a metal bucket to fling the honey out, then pass it all through a strainer. Voila. Honey. 

But it's so much more. It's intimate. Fiercely intimate. That greedy kind of intimacy where you ravage for everything you want, way more than you need, just so you can bottle it all up. Then you dig deeper, strain every bit of sweetness from the debris: beeswax, propolis, wings. Eventually, you'll give these away or put them up on a shelf.

All of that waiting was so worth it. And now, we have to wait until next August for more of this feasting.

Patrick and I always feel like we're waiting: waiting to buy a house, to make more money, for God to get around to all of our many requests. Our bees have taught me the beauty in waiting - how sweet it can be. 

Sadly, our last hive died this winter. Now, we wait for our new bees to arrive. Wait for them to make this their home. Wait for flowers, heat, and iced tea with fresh honey.

Let's never forget how important - and nourishing - waiting can be. 

Stay tuned for up-to-date posts on our new hive!