At the desk, 8:05 a.m.
For me? Last year had some super duper sucky moments.
One moment looked like this:
A nasty feral hive attacking my big healthy gorgeous hive in a fit of intense robbing that lasted for three days and had our basement dwelling crackhead neighbors calling the city, who in turn, came out to write us a ticket and tell us that if we didn't do something about the hives (which I'd been fighting for three days) they would. So, while I sobbed, we sprayed the bees from the air with a garden hose so they fell to the ground, vacuumed them up, and let them go somewhere near the evil mansion I invented in Brighton for Denver Cereal.
It was a very dark day.
There was no way for the rest of our hives to recover. After a few more fits of drama, and desperate despair, all of our bees died.
How long do you fight for life when the entire world has taken money over life? How long do you fight for the lives of bees when even the stupid vegans are willing to take the fruits of bees labor (vegetable, fruits, nuts, and every other freakin' flowering plant), but chastise the bee keepers who love them, care for them, and fight for their very existence? How much of your soul do you pour into a species you will never understand? How can you believe that you can make any kind of difference when the entire government would rather lines their pockets with corporate money and turn their back on the bees?
When do you stop pouring money you barely have into something that no one gives a crap about?
How long do you fight for life?
And when do you just give up and let the crackhead neighbors and the politicians and the stupid vegans and everyone else win?
When do you just give up?
I stopped beekeeping. I shoved everything into the Bee Barn (which is why it's such a mess), closed and locked the door.
"Isn't it time to order bees again?" the husband asked.
"I'm not a beekeeper," I said.
"Oh, that's all right," he smiled. "I am. Will you order some bees for me?"
I looked up at him. He's deadly allergic to bees. After retrieving a particularly nasty hive from his mother's house, he was stung multiple times and hasn't had much to do with bees since then. He's not a beekeeper.
"Are you getting these so I'll take care of them? Because I won't."
"No," he said. "I reminding you of who you are."
He left for work about that time so there wasn't much more to say.
So I ordered bees - a hive from California and two hives from New Mexico. The New Mexico bees didn't over winter well, but the California bees... well, we pick them up tomorrow.
And we start a new.