Farmers’ Market: The Lorax II
“Well, he bit me!” This was the response to my repeated efforts to get an “un-listener” to do so while I tried to make him understand the difference between bees and other stinging insects, as I described in the last column.
With regard to his justification, all I can do is sigh. That statement is at best 66.7 percent wrong. I will give him the pronoun, me. I never met a human who had not mastered “me, me, me” before s/he was even verbal; some retain the misapprehension that “it is all about me” through an entire lifetime. But the rest … not a chance.
First off, the gender pronoun is wrong; the hive of the honeybee is made up of female workers and a queen. There are some drones, but they are stingless. They basically sit around like Jaba, the Hutt, fat and happy, lazing about while served by their hard working sisters and waiting for a queen to emerge who has not yet gone on her mating flight. They serve no other purpose in the hive. In late summer, those same sisters will unceremoniously boot the drones from the hive and they will die. Can’t be a “he;” no way, no shape, no how.
And “bite?” While a bee does have mouth parts, they are completely unsuited for anything as ick-inducing as chomping on flesh. Nectar, yes. Pollen, sure. Bee bread, absolutely. Honey, yum! But meat, not even a chance. The stinger is 180 degrees away from the bee’s mouth, in her nether regions, and only capable of one solid jab. A bee is anatomically designed for “one and you’re done.” Understandably, she doesn’t sting unless she has to.
Bees do sting, of course. I am often asked if I ever get stung, and my response is always “Absolutely.” Part of being a beekeeper is to periodically rip the roof off the top of the bees’ home, rummage about in their pantry and their nursery, steal their groceries, and very occasionally grab their old, familiar matriarch and replace her with some unknown “Young Thang” who may or may not cut the mustard.
Understandably, when bees feel threatened, they sting to defend their home. Out in a field where they are industriously collecting nectar or pollen or when I sit quietly in their front yard, watching and listening as they come and go (I can often tell as much as I need to know about what is going on in the hive from outside), they are as indifferent to people as is possible to be.
Bees do so much for us … honey, pollination, propolis, medications, wax.
This is one of the big reasons why I can never understand the readiness of people to reach for the Raid, no questions asked. It is what makes me shake my head in confusion over those whose pursuit of a green lawn includes repeated blankets of toxic spray. It is what makes me most frustrated about consumers’ government-supported ignorance concerning the replacement of many of our traditional food crops with genetically-altered strangers. It is what makes me double up my fists in my pockets to avoid administering that dope slap.
When you come to the Presque Isle Farmers Market in the parking lot of the Aroostook Centre Mall on a Saturday morning, we hope you enjoy the fruits and vegetables the venders have for sale. We appreciate your patronage and your good questions. We hope you also remember the pollinators we all depend on to provide that food. Like the Lorax, “I speak for the bees.”
The Presque Isle Farmers’ Market contact person is Gail Maynard, who operates Orchard Hill Farm in Woodland with her husband, Stan. Their phone number is 498-8541 and their email is orchhill@gmail.com.
