In December in Door County, as the world tilts away even further from the sun, beekeepers and bees alike enter a season of waiting and preservation. This period, known as the cold, dark wait, is a testament to the resilience and dedication of the autumnal past. Beehives, wrapped for warmth and packed with food, stand against the stark winter landscape, a silent promise of spring humming within their wooden walls. It’s a time when most beekeeper’s thoughts turn inward, reflecting on the past season’s successes and failures, planning the season ahead, hoping for the survival of next spring’s garden song. In winter, Door County beekeepers learn to direct their patience and hope toward the future… and then listen carefully.
The Cold, Dark Wait
And yet, even as winter in Door County wraps the land in a blanket of snow and silence, within the beehive, life persists in a delicate balance. The bees, clustered tightly around their noble queen, vibrate their wings to generate heat, maintaining a life-sustaining temperature against the external cold. This cluster shifts and moves, rotating efficiently in its slow dance to increase the chance that each bee has its turn closer to the warmer center, closer to survival, and closer to spring. For the longer each bee lives to generate heat, the higher the chance their elegant queen will live to start them all anew. This year, the cold, dark wait wasn’t that cold and didn’t wait that long, so the first song of spring rang out a bit earlier than usual.
The First Signs of Life
Now, as the sun really begins to reclaim the sky, and we prepare to turn the clocks forward and enjoy longer evenings, more sunbeams, and the possibility of gloaming light, the bees venture farther and farther out on their cleansing flights. But if you watch them, you’ll see they don’t go too far, partially because they know better. Without pollen flows and nectar sources, there is nothing to fly toward. But these first forays into the cold, bright world are vital, a purging of winter’s confinement and a search for the earliest signs of pollen. The beekeeper’s heart lifts as each bee returns to the hive. Someday soon, they will go all the way, returning with their legs dusted with golden pollen and their honey stomachs full of rich nectar. But for now we are just happy they return. We must not get ahead of ourselves in Door County, Wisconsin. For who really knows exactly when the cold, dark wait will end?
Spring is a fragile time for many of Nature’s creatures; they’ve made it through the winter, but they must still find food in a land barren of what they need. To the beekeeper, their rhythmic flights through trees with barely a bud confirm that the hive has survived the winter and that the cycle of growth will probably begin anew, as long as we do our part. As the air around the hive buzzes softly, we see and hear and feel a prelude to one of the sweetest songs of spring: a healthy beehive. So, we must, like any good member of the hive, do whatever necessary, provide whatever the hive needs: Food. Shelter. Attention.
The Queen Awakes
Meanwhile, as the days lengthen and warm, deep in the hive the queen bee emerges from her winter lethargy and begins to fulfill her duty in earnest. (I can talk about my queens specifically because I name them. [Cue regal music] May I cordially and formally introduce to you, Queen Lello of the Yellow Land Hive and Queen Azul, of the Sky Blue Heaven Hive. But that’s a story for late spring when they are dressed out in all their glory.)
The heart of the hive beats strongly once the queen decides it is time. Her activity marks a pivotal moment in the hive’s year. When she resumes laying eggs (each a tiny beacon of the hive’s future survival) the colony is reborn. Life returns in earnest. A period of intense activity begins within the hive, as worker bees clean and prepare cells for new eggs, for new siblings, for new life. Soon, the bees will carefully regulate the temperature within the hive to ensure the queen’s comfort; they will strive not only to survive, but flourish. Nothing can stop her from her work; she, like the sun, never stops providing. The beekeeper, too, must provide, must become a steward of this delicate rebirth, monitoring the queen’s health, the hive’s health, checking for signs of disease or distress, providing supplemental food and pollen, and monitoring, encouraging, and marveling at the queen’s unwavering focus on her task. There is nothing quite like seeing your elongated regal queen in the spring, crawling across open cells dotted with tiny, white eggs. It reminds one of the most beautiful Queen of Egypt, Nefertiti, when a long neck represented both beauty and abundance. Everything starts and ends with the noble queen.
The Ever-Growing Super-organism
As the hive grows, we begin again to see it as a super-organism, a single entity driven by shared purpose. But in truth, it has always been thus. A beehive is always one, extraordinary living song, regardless of its size or output. The journey from egg to larva to pupa to bee is a miracle of Nature, each stage meticulously cared for by the worker bees. Larvae are fed and protected, pupae are encased in their cocoons, and new bees emerge in ever increasing numbers, ready to live and die for the greater good, for the hive, for the living song of Nature. This transformation is a testament to the hive’s complexity and efficiency, a system where every member has a role, and the whole is indeed greater than the sum of its parts.
And the beekeeper… well, the beekeeper watches this growth with a mix of the inspiring fragrance of awe and the heavy burden of responsibility, aware of their role in supporting the hive’s development and the delicate balance that sustains it. When I think about it carefully, I really like the term beekeeper, but, truthfully, I no more keep my bees than I keep the wind or a rainbow. I celebrate and sing the bees. I marvel at their instinctive intelligence, innate toughness, and dedication to each other and the colony. In comparison to their sacrifice and dedication, I provide cheap sugar and small bits of labor and practical wisdom. It is essential that I remember that these small tasks are nothing compared to the joy of a healthy summer hive or the phenomenon of standing unafraid in the middle of a swarm of bees. Sometimes, we humans are unaware of our selfish status in Nature.
A Garden Song Honeybees
As spring blooms into full splendor, the garden becomes a symphony of color and life, with bee balm, clover, goldenrod, and dandelions offering a feast for the foraging bees. The air is filled with the music of buzzing wings as bees float from flower to flower, gathering, pollinating, rejoicing. And I get to watch it all. Beekeeping in Door County is a melody of patience, resilience, and bounty, a song that weaves through the seasons, reminding us of the beauty of growth and the interconnectedness of life. From the cold, dark wait of winter to the lush abundance of a springtime garden filled with bees, the beekeeper stands calmly in the middle of this garden song, playing a crucial but selfish role in nurturing this cycle, a guardian of the music that sustains us all.
Every once in a while, I will stand in awe, still as a flower, amazed that I’m responsible for and part of something so beautiful.
