Type-A Beekeeper (Not Social Butterflies)

Most people do not get into beekeeping because they are looking for an opportunity to be social.

A rare photo of a beekeeper herd in the wild 

Every single beekeeper I have ever spoken to about their business (hobby/side-hustle) of beekeeping has used phrases like 'getting away' or 'quiet time' or 'focus'.  Not once have I heard the phrase 'small group beekeeping' or 'beekeeping party'.  No group of guys ever head out for a weekend of beekeeping. Girls' Night Out has, to my knowledge, never involved a hive.


Working with bees is primarily a solitary endeavor.  Maybe a family endeavor; novels often use the image of the beekeeper and the small child who watches. But groups don't keep bees.


So what happens when you get a group of beekeepers together in a conference, or in a workshop, or in any large group?  I got to find out this weekend when I went to a beginning beekeeping workshop in Jackson.


I don't have bees.


Yet.


In 2002, I helped a friend of mine in Yucatan with his bees after a day of field archaeology, and I have been hooked ever since.  A swarm infested a column of my house in New Orleans, and I immediately tried to figure out how and where to transfer them to a place where I could keep them.


When I finally couldn't put it off any longer (the wife had been chased off the porch, and the mailman was threatening to permanently suspend delivery), I bought a smoker, built a 'bee vac', made a homemade bee veil (stapler and Tilley hat, patent definitely NOT pending) and climbed up on my ladder to remove the now unwelcome tenants.


Bittersweet success: It worked, and I took 'my bees' to the batture and released them, with a bit of sadness.


Other opportunities came along.  A government project I was working on was finishing and closing up shop, and the contractor was ready to move the trailer from the site.  I went to collect the bees that had taken up residence underneath (with no plans of what to do with them, of course), but when I got to the site with my bee vac, I realized that I had no power source.  A day later, the trailer went down the road, angry bees in tow.  Other project sites, other trailers, other feral hives appeared on the scene; still no place to put the bees, if I had collected them.


Once I moved to Vicksburg, MS, things changed.  I went from having a postage-stamp sized backyard to having enough space to allow both bees and my wife to have space to co-exist.  And I bought a hive.  By the time I got it, and got it put together, and started looking around, I was pretty sure that it was too late to get the girls established in a new home.  And so I waited.


And when the Central Mississippi Beekeepers Association hosted a workshop this past weekend, I went. 


Now I am not normally a shy person.  I think of myself as an outgoing introvert.  I get my energy from being alone, but fare relatively well in groups, or even in front of them.  I sing solos, I give presentations, I speak easily in front of crowds.  I even attend parties from time to time.  I do not suffer from shyness.  Most of the time.


And here, at this workshop, there were specialists all around me who could answer my questions - the ones that I had been reading and preparing and gathering resources and figuring out myself since 2001.  Now was my chance!


This time, for some reason, I became a wee, tim'rous beastie, sitting with my folder, afraid to talk to anyone.  Seriously, I have not been that shy since I took Irish dancing lessons (now THAT was a painful self-consious episode).  I listened to fantastic lectures, gathered great information from a number of specialists, and then stood around, feeling uneasy and out of place.


When I started looking around, though, I noticed something remarkable. 


Every single person in the whole room of more than 100 people was doing exactly the same as I was.  There were small groups made up of a husband and wife, or a father and child (a couple of teens, but mostly small kids).  And a whole bunch of people standing by themselves.

A few years ago I was voraciously reading  Seth Godin, especially his work on tribes ("The Tribes We Lead" - his TED Talk - is definitely worth a listen.)  Following his advice, I was enthusiastic about this opportunity to join a group that shared my interest.  The prospect of geeking out with like-minded individuals was thrilling. 


I did not quite count on the fact that the concept of the 'social butterfly' did not necessarily translate to those who work with the true social insects. 


By the end of the day, I had shed my exoskeleton a little.  I had conversated with a few of my classmates.  I had talked with a very nice beekeeper from my area, and elicited an invitation to come and visit his operations, just an hour's drive from the house.  I had gathered a huge quantity of information, and had developed contacts of people who I could ask questions and pester...




...from afar.  From a safe social distance.  Through the internet, with a bee veil of safety.  Semi-anonymity.


I am thrilled to be starting.  I am excited to get bees (hopefully this weekend.)  I like the group.  But I don't think I will be looking to my beekeeper friends for my social outlet. 


It seems that even the Type A beekeepers celebrate solidude.