Man, I'm beat. I was going to write a review of Beartown today, but there's just no way. My mother is a beekeeper and we spent a good chunk of today extracting 4 GALLONS of honey. It's not a fun job. First you have to collect all the frames from the hives. Then you slice open the wax cells with a heated knife. And then you spin the oozing frames in a hand-cranked centrifuge. The honey collects at the bottom and gets drained and filtered into a bucket. Cranking the extractor is so physically grueling. I ate two bags of popcorn afterwards to regain even some of my energy, and I can tell I'm going to be sore tomorrow.
This was actually my first time helping with the honey extraction process. For years, my mom has asked if I want to help her with the hives, and I've always said no. Messing around with angry bees just doesn't appeal to me. And they are so difficult to take care of (and somehow completely incapable of taking care of themselves). The few times I have gotten into a bee suit to lend her a hand has been an exercise in self-control. Because when a bee is angrily slamming into your veil, over and over again, determined to get you, it can be very hard not to scream and swat it away while you're holding a frame containing thousands of her sisters.
Anyway, I think beekeeping sounds more romantic than it really is, though my mother says she loves it. I hope I don't look back later in my life wishing I had learned to keep bees from her when I had the chance. Somehow, I doubt that will happen, but you never know. To this day, I still kick myself for brushing off my grandmother when she tried to teach me how to sew clothes. So we'll see.
But if anyone's thinking about getting into beekeeping, my advice is to help a beekeeper friend for at least two years before you get any of your own. They are so much more work than you'd ever think.
Writing Streak: 0 days
My Books on Amazon:
Waking Lions by Avelet Gundar-Goshen
Never Let Me Go
by Kazuo Ishiguro