Magical creatures
AN APPRECIATION OF THE HONEY BEE
The jar glows in the afternoon light. Undoing its lid releases a heady scent. Dip, then drizzle. Sweetness drips from my spoon in long threads. Marketeers might try to persuade me that the squeezy bottle is a quick, convenient way to administer honey, but doesn’t that rob a little of the magic from this precious substance? Surely the work of thousands of bees deserves a little more reverence than an undignified plop from a plastic aperture.
My fascination with the creatures that provide such sweetness is not unusual. People across cultures and time have been captivated by the honey bee, its honey a welcome sweetener when sugar was rare, and pre-electricity, when a beeswax candle was more highly prized than one of smoky, foul-smelling tallow. But there is something else at play here: a greater mystery. Bees seem to possess some ancient wisdom, and I, like countless others, yearn for initiation.
In ancient civilisations, honey bees were believed to be messengers from the gods, even deities themselves. In the 16th century, the Church was the chief consumer of wax, which has no doubt lent the beeswax candle a certain sanctity. But wax has also played a part in witchcraft. And in medicine, wax models of body parts were believed to help alleviate sickness. Honey, too, has long been known for its medicinal properties, and in Ancient Greece and Egypt pollen gathered by bees was regarded as a health food known as “bee bread”. To this historical bee lore, we can add modern-day uses of propolis (a substance produced to seal up the hive) in lozenges and tinctures, claiming to ease sore throats and boost immunity, and proof of honey’s antiseptic, wound-healing abilities. No wonder bee goods continue to resonate with life-affirming power.
On a more practical level, honey bees have repeatedly symbolised industry, setting an example of hard work and common purpose (although more recently, observations have shown that honey bees in the hive are not always as busy as we might believe). Nevertheless, they are fascinating to watch. Peeking inside the hive, I can’t help but marvel at their skills – as architects, construction workers, nurse maids – and their curiously accurate sense of space (they know just how much room they need to manoeuvre between combs, glueing up unnecessary spaces with propolis). A worker bee only progresses to gathering pollen and nectar later in life.
The discovery of bees’ role in pollination has contributed yet another narrative to the vast tome of honey bee lore. And, as the story is brought ever more up to date, supercharged with scientific evidence, another tale unfolds. Bee numbers are in decline due to disease, loss of wildflower meadows, and poisoning from neonicotinoid insecticides sprayed on our crops.
A happy ending for them depends entirely on us.