Thanksgiving Honey Harvest

23 November 2012

Wednesday we did some honey harvesting. Jacob was off of work, and the day was crisp and fall-ish, and the baby was napping. Everything was perfect, so I holed myself in a corner with a blanket over my head while Jacob tackled the first of his two hives.

The last time we tried to harvest honey, I was haunted by one of the bees for three days. My father - who caught the beekeeping fever from Jacob - explained that this bee was a guard bee, and once you've gotten a guard bee riled up there's nothing to do but sting or be stung. He thought it was unusual that the bee hung around for so many days, but after Jacob killed her, I wasn't bothered by a single other bee. So I know it was the same bee, and I know she had it out for me.

I'm still a little scarred. I mean - let's not be overdramatic - I have two beehives so close to my front door that I could spit on them, and I'm cool with that. I just don't love them like I used to. I no longer feel like they're our pets. I leave them alone; they leave me alone.

When Jacob told me he was harvesting Wednesday, I closed every window in the house and completely refused to help. We wouldn't be having any incidents like last time...or that was the plan...until Jacob needed to bring the comb inside. Anyway. Long story short. We opened the door. He passed in the comb. A bee buzzed in with it, and seconds later the bee was in my hair and I was jumping around the house and whipping my hair like a mad woman. I was helpless because Jacob was stuck outside with bees still crawling all over his hood. He really wasn't too concerned though: he'd been stung about eight times by then and figured I could handle it myself. And I did. Necessity mothered some invention in the way of a no-special-tools-needed bee trap for longhaired people, and I feel pretty brilliant about it. Check it:


That's right. There's a bee in there. Bees go for your eyes, so a couple hair whips will snag them in your tresses, and then all you have to do is twist. Bee. Trapped. And dead. Jacob fished it out after he took the photo. Not a believer?? Take two:


This was taken this morning when we came back in the house after running errands because, no, they hadn't settled down 48 hours later, and, yes, they hate me.

See how much calmer I am in the second photo? That's because my Hair Twist Bee Trap is awesome. With the way things have been going, I'm sure I'll have a chance to test it out a few more times. Jacob is very amused by how the bees seem to target me. He told me today: "Maybe they're jealous...I mean, I'm kind of like their pimp and you're like my main squeeze..."



Anyhow. The end of our story is a sweet one.



Yes, those are dead bees collecting on the table; and, no, the fact that the straining comb looks like a hefty bosom is not lost on us - we just embrace it, and let the jokes abound.


  1. I am extremely impressed with your bee trap. With my luck I would try it, do it wrong, and get stung.

  2. Ok.. this is just too cool for school.... You guys will be set if the Apocalypse comes... I feel like I could bear anything if only there's still fresh honey...

  3. Yesss. I love honey stories because something funny always happens. I mean not that I'm laughing at your misfortune, but I guess I'm a little but laughing at your misfortune. It's your fault: you tell it so amusingly.

    Anyway that looks so delish. I'm so very jealous.

  4. Kate,

    Now I have to explain to everyone in the office why I'm hysterically rolling on the floor over here! I love your bee sagas!

  5. OH my gosh, you are so much more fierce and brave than I

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