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Perceivings by Alan Dean Foster


It seems that folks are pretty agitated right now, opinions sharply divided, neighbor quarreling with neighbor, even battling over something as silly as signs (my favorite sign says “Ice Cream Sold Here”). Might be a good time for everyone to take a step or two back and spend a few minutes contemplating the marvelous part of the world in which we are all fortunate enough to live (maybe minus the signs). If Nature can do it on a regular basis, why can’t we?



Take bees, arguably our most beneficial insect. They provide us with honey that is not only nutritious and tasteful but therapeutic as well. They pollinate our fruit and vegetable farms, giving us food. They pollinate flowers, giving us beauty. And yet for many people they have somehow acquired a reputation for being argumentative. Yes, they sting, but only when seriously provoked, something useful to remember during election season. Bees always work together for the general good of the hive, one reason they’re called “social” insects. Nobody rails at them and calls them communist insects. Bees don’t worry about being labeled by other species.


About ten years ago they colonized our well house. Starting from nothing, they built an enormous, thriving hive, not unlike the folks who founded this country. They made use of their natural environment (without destroying it) and constructed a compact, highly successful little civilization. They’re all immigrant stock, too. Our honeybees were imported from Eurasia. I enjoyed watching them at work on the blossoms around our house. We’ve been here for forty years and in all that time I was stung only once, my fault. Can’t say the same for local politicos.


One time they colonized the main house, and we had to have them put down. It was a painful but necessary move. Their buzzing was keeping us awake and they posed a danger to our dogs. But the colonization of the well house was another matter. It was well away from the main structure and posed no threat to our animals. Except — the combs they constructed outside the smaller building blocked the doorway.


I could walk right up to the hive, filled with thousands of busy workers, and they completely ignored me. But if I opened the door it would break off some of the comb, and they would likely react the same way as if someone broke into our house. So we had them moved by a beekeeper. Ten years later they were back, and the same situation developed.


Combs hanging outside, filled with honey and larvae. This time we engaged some folks from Skull Valley. Tom and Michele Veatch of Prescott Beekeepers came out and spent the better part of an afternoon moving the bees. This involved cutting the combs from the well-house roof overhang and placing them in wood slots that then fit neatly into a wooden box; a hand-built new hive.


Understandably, the bees were a bit upset. Even though it was to their ultimate benefit, making them understand was not possible (when was the last time you were forcibly relocated?). So they swarmed a bit, and some of them got a bit pissy, as Tom and Michele said. But there was no ferocious attack. These weren’t Africanized bees (I prefer the term ‘uncivilized’). Watching Tom use a flat-bladed tool to scrape hundreds of live bees off a comb and into a box was fascinating. Michele and I monitored the process from maybe thirty feet away. Even though there were bees all around, they never bothered us.


When the sticky job was finally complete, Tom loaded the newly populated hive into the rear of his pickup, which was uncovered. “They’ll stay with the hive,”Tom assured me, as indeed they did, all the way back to Skull Valley, where they are now comfortably ensconced in their new location.


Subsequently our flowers have been visited by other bees, and not just honeybees. At least half a dozen different species have come to visit. Arizona is bee-rich. I watch them when I can, usually when I take a break from work. They’re having a long season, not unlike our politicians. Also unlike our politicians they’re not interesting in stinging and raising welts and injecting venom. They just go about their business: building their hives, raising their young, making honey, getting ready for winter and trying to stay healthy while avoiding the Varroa mite. The Varroa is to honeybees what Covid-19 is to us.


I’d say that we could learn a lesson from our local honeybees, but somebody would probably call me a radical socialist for making the analogy. Honey is bees’ Social Security, and nobody seems to object to honey. But I still think it’s a good lesson to learn. Maybe if we were a little more like honeybees, sharing the work and the honey, we’d stop yelling at each other for a while. Even the drones get their share, but just a fair share. If the drones monopolized all the honey, you wouldn’t have much of a civilization, and the hive would die.


I don’t want to see our hive die. I don’t want to see it become uncivilized, striking out violently and blindly at every perceived threat. That doesn’t make for a happy hive.


So I’m taking a few moments to watch the bees and enjoy the flowers. Winter will be here soon enough.



Prescott resident Alan Dean Foster is the author of 130 books. Follow him at AlanDeanFoster. com.

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