A little over a year ago, I tasted a delicious honey at a restaurant near my upstate New York home. The restaurant owner referred me to the local beekeeper who made the honey (well, made by the bees, but collected by the apiarist D.J. Haverkamp). When I contacted D.J., he agreed to help me set up my own hives. I’d been wanting an apiary for years and, with the recent demise of millions of honeybees from the mysterious “colony collapse disorder,” it seemed like the right time to do my small part in reviving the population.
Before D.J. arrived with my hive, I read The Queen and I, Edward Weiss’s book about beekeeping, and learned everything I could about bees. It’s a fascinating book; I picked up the basics of beekeeping and developed a passion for it. Last year went quite smoothly, and this year promises to be even better. D.J. has kept bees for years, but I was his first client, a sort of experiment to see whether he enjoys keeping bees for other people. It turns out he does.This year, he has many more clients in our community, and my own set-up has improved. Last year, my hive was set on the grass; this year, it’s on a sturdy platform. Last year, the top was weighted down with a big rock; this year, hook-and-latch cables secure it. I’m not a huge fan of the new sign affixed to the hive—I prefer the beauty of a simple white box—but I understand the need to have DJ’s number prominently displayed in case of an emergency. The one thing that hasn’t changed is the very beauty of the process. The bees still dart back and forth between the woods and the hive, the frames grow heavy with honey, and the box continually buzzes with an energy that reminds me of a great night in my restaurant kitchen.
My queen, identified by the emerald green dot on her back, and her bees have already produced a lot of honey; D.J. anticipates at least ten pounds this season. Because I have a wide variety of plants on my property, the honey develops a very complex sweetness. I can’t wait to taste it again.





