Keeper of the Bees

For the past year I've been peering closely at my rosemary plants conducting my own personal bee count. Good news first. Bee count is up. But I'm biting my lip because I've given the lavender and rosemary bushes free reign, and they've taken over the front garden, along with a robust mint. All three are rudely pushing all comers out of thier way. But the bees are happy.

Support your local beekeepers. If you eat local honey, it fends off allergies. Then there is a natural antibacterial bonus too, so slather plenty on your biscuits. Beekeepers do, and that working group suffers less from arthritis than any other worldwide.Bees are drawn to blue flowers. The girls are obviously aware it shows off their yellow stripes to best advantage.
Pots of edible honey have been unearthed from Egyptian tombs. So I guess its safe to finally uncork this dark honey from Ambleside that I've been saving for ten years.


There's fun in the community too. The worker bees preform a circular dance in a particular direction according to the position of the sun. This tells the other workers the direction and distance to the closest nectar source. Bee's like yellow flowers too. Brilliant of them.

Keeping modesty in mind, I do think the bees approve of me. I rescue them when they zig-zag into my studio and I shun pesticides in my garden. On a grander helping scale, enourmous swaths of farmlands in europe have been designated as 'Recovery zones' to help against the collapse disorder, where nectar bearing plants flourish without pesticides. And in 2008 the Beekeepers of England in their protecive suits, and even carrying thier smokers, descended on Parliment and marched to Ten Downing Street to hand over a petition demanding more research for what was called in the 19th century 'Dwindling disease'. And its working. The losses are down 20 percent in the last year. I did a bee dance all my own when I read that news.

This plate, painted with a super that looks just like a clapboard cottage, is the image I painted on my very first piece of pottery. I'm still painting them every spring.

I am not at peace, though. I hanker after one of my own bee houses, vibrating with activity. And one of these wide brimmed hats with the flowing netting. If my neighbors call me the mad beekeeper of Cambria, so be it. In fact, maybe I'll get my first tattoo (strictly henna) to commemorate my hive. A bee? a skep?

nuh-uh. Just the beekeepers motto and the three words that I adore: Nothing Without Labor.

Now and then the honey bee

Laden with her treasure

Darting from the clover blooms

Hums her drowsy measure.

xx

julie

For Mr. Toast!
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