Bee Here Now

It sounds like a line from a stand-up comic: “Did you hear the one about the

Buddhist and beekeeper?” Bees just naturally seem to attract contemplative types:

swamis, sages, monks, mystics, yogis. No joke.

A poised mind and serene demeanor definitely help when handling thousands of

venomous insects that have never really been domesticated. Coexisting with bees

requires a certain philosophical personality: curious, appreciative, patient, and at peace

with the prospect of getting stung. Call these traits the bee-attitudes. Some people have

what it takes.

I won’t even mention that enlightened master Winnie-the-Pooh. “That buzzing-

noise means something,” the bear mused to himself when he heard the hum coming

from a treetop in the Hundred Acre Wood. “You don’t get a buzzing-noise like that, just

buzzing and buzzing, without its meaning something.”

Rather, I’m thinking of beekeepers like Gregor Mendel, abbot of an Augustinian

monastery and famous for the cross-breeding of peas, but equally dedicated to

hybridizing honeybees, whom he called “my children” and doted upon as “my dearest

little animals.”

Mendel discovered the laws of heredity. But during his own lifetime, Mendel was

probably better known as founder of the Brünn Apiculture Society, where his scientific

work eventually inspired another monk, Brother Adam, who became one of the foremost

authorities on these creatures that do most of the world’s farming: pollinating apples,

berries, melons, soybeans, broccoli, and other food crops that make up about a third of

the human diet.

Karl Kehrle, as Brother Adam was baptized, joined the Benedictine Abbey of

Buckfast in southwestern England in 1910, when he was only twelve years old. Too

young to engage in the heavy labor of stonework as the abbey was being restored,

Brother Adam was made useful in the apiary, where a disastrous epidemic was about to

strike.

Like the Colony Collapse Disorder that plagues modern beekeepers, an

infestation of the trachea mite known as acarine wreaked havoc on bees of the British

Isles during the years of the First World War. Ninety percent of all hives were affected.

Using Gregor Mendel’s researches as a guide, Brother Adam traveled the world in

search of resistant bees that could be cross-fertilized with other species that were good

honey producers.

Unlike Mendel, who never had much success as a breeder, Brother Adam

invented the early equivalent of eHarmony for bees, turning hitherto unmated strains of

insects from Asia, Africa, and Europe into propagating couples (“A very delicate

operation,” according to one colleague). In an obituary for Brother Adam that appeared

upon his death in 1996, The Economist observed that “He was unsurpassed as a

breeder of bees. He talked to them, he stroked them. He brought to the hives a

calmness that according to those who saw him at work, the sensitive bees responded

to.”

“He loved the bees almost as much as he loved God,” remarked one of the

monks at Buckfast. .That’s also the attitude of a neighbor of mine whom some call

a “bee mystic” and who is taking over the work of preserving the honeybee where

Kehrle left off. Faced with the same infestation of varroa mites that Brother Adam was

battling before his death, Kirk Webster—who freely acknowledges his debt to the

Benedictine—decided on an unconventional strategy. While most industrial-scale honey

producers were using chemicals to battle the insect—a tactic that offered quick victories

but long-term devastation as the mite developed resistance to pesticides, which then

had to be applied in more lethal, toxic doses—Kirk allowed most of bees on his small

Vermont farm to perish, figuring the survivors would emerge stronger from the ordeal.

Here Kirk was guided partly by his meditation practice, which he took up when a

serious personal illness struck. The fact that he got sick from mercury poisoning gave

him second thoughts about injecting even more noxious substances into the

environment. And that brush with death offered other lessons as well. Impermanence is

the great Buddhist teaching that Kirk took to heart.

Allowing his hives to die meant losing most of his already meager income.

Several seasons were required for insects from the surviving colonies to be interbred

with one another and, with a tough Russian stock, eventually creating a new mite-proof

bee. This matchmaking proved laborious, not suited to factory scales or quick

turnaround. But Kirk, living in a modest farmhouse at the end of a dirt road near

Middlebury, was less interested in short-term profits than in what the Buddha

called “right livelihood.”

Mass production and monocultures, in his opinion, are the “modern methods”

that are not only destroying family farms but also—by reliance on insecticides and

reducing the variety of forage available to insects, birds, and other small animals—

threatening to upset the delicate balance on which life itself depends.

Here science is on his side. Among the monocultures that increasingly typify

American agriculture are the orchards of central California. Awakened from hibernation

and fed high-fructose corn syrup dosed with antibiotics, over half of all the honeybees in

America, representing more than a million colonies, are trucked there each February,

traveling thousands of miles to pollinate 600,000 acres of farmland where nothing grows

except almonds. Some bees are shipped from as far as Australia. Until recently, the

trees were being treated with neonicotinoids—a widely used class of neurotoxins that

infiltrate the seeds and stems of plants, eventually making their way into nectar and

pollen. Research shows these compounds interfere with both the worker bees’

navigational systems and with production of queens within the hive. Bayer Chemical

finally removed almonds from the list of plants labeled for treatment with imidacloprid—

one of the more common neonicotinoids—but these bio-toxins and many just as deadly

are still used on other crops—from apples to berries—that have become equally

dependent on interstate highways, forklifts, and aerial spraying to complete the simple

act of fertilization.

While no single explanation has emerged for Colony Collapse, industrial

agriculture of this scale has contributed to the disappearance of billions of honeybees in

the last five years. Reflecting on the difference between having a farm and running a

business, Kirk writes,

I’m just trying to have a nice, quiet life in the country; centered around

beekeeping and with some time left over for gardening, and visiting and helping

others of a similar mind. I love the constantly changing work and all the different

jobs in their seasons.

Small farms have been ignored, discouraged, or destroyed in our system

at every possible opportunity. But still, when one works really well, there’s

nothing else on earth even remotely like it. This is where health, freedom, peace,

joy and contentment can actually come together in our daily activities, year in

and year out.

Making a living this way allows Nature to heal because of our work, rather

than be continually degraded. It often seems trivial or out of place to even

mention this in a country that’s so focused on material things and personal gain,

but it’s true: people who take great joy in this kind of life are almost certain to

encounter a reality beyond their own needs and desires; the possibility of

Revelation.

The bees for Kirk are a portal into nature, he told me. The creatures help him

approach the world with greater love and reverence. So what do you get when you

cross a Buddhist with a beekeeper? A person who’s gentle with himself and others. An

individual committed to nonviolence (it’s been ten years since Kirk used pesticides,

which were originally invented as weapons of war). Someone who knows the meaning

of “enough.” A practitioner of what E. F. Schumacher called the central principle of

Buddhist economics: the precept that small is beautiful. Someone who sees that even

the humble honeybee is both a mystery and a reason for gratitude.

Gary Kowalski (www.kowalskibooks.com) is author of several books on nature,

spirituality, history and science including the forthcoming Blessings of the Animals

(Lantern Books, 2012) from which this article is excerpted. .

A poised mind and serene demeanor definitely help when handling thousands of venomous insects that have never really been domesticated. Coexisting with bees requires a certain philosophical personality: curious, appreciative, patient, and at peace with the prospect of getting stung. Call these traits the bee-attitudes. Some people have what it takes.

I won’t even mention that enlightened master Winnie-the-Pooh. “That buzzing-noise means something,” the bear mused to himself when he heard the hum coming from a treetop in the Hundred Acre Wood. “You don’t get a buzzing-noise like that, just buzzing and buzzing, without its meaning something.”

Rather, I’m thinking of beekeepers like Gregor Mendel, abbot of an Augustinian monastery and famous for the cross-breeding of peas, but equally dedicated to hybridizing honeybees, whom he called “my children” and doted upon as “my dearest little animals.”

Mendel discovered the laws of heredity. But during his own lifetime, Mendel was probably better known as founder of the Brünn Apiculture Society, where his scientific work eventually inspired another monk, Brother Adam, who became one of the foremost authorities on these creatures that do most of the world’s farming: pollinating apples, berries, melons, soybeans, broccoli, and other food crops that make up about a third of the human diet.

Karl Kehrle, as Brother Adam was baptized, joined the Benedictine Abbey of Buckfast in southwestern England in 1910, when he was only twelve years old. Too young to engage in the heavy labor of stonework as the abbey was being restored, Brother Adam was made useful in the apiary, where a disastrous epidemic was about to strike.

Like the Colony Collapse Disorder that plagues modern beekeepers, an infestation of the trachea mite known as acarine wreaked havoc on bees of the British Isles during the years of the First World War. Ninety percent of all hives were affected. Using Gregor Mendel’s researches as a guide, Brother Adam traveled the world in search of resistant bees that could be cross-fertilized with other species that were good honey producers.

Unlike Mendel, who never had much success as a breeder, Brother Adam invented the early equivalent of eHarmony for bees, turning hitherto unmated strains of insects from Asia, Africa, and Europe into propagating couples (“A very delicate operation,” according to one colleague). In an obituary for Brother Adam that appeared upon his death in 1996, The Economist observed that “He was unsurpassed as a breeder of bees. He talked to them, he stroked them. He brought to the hives a calmness that according to those who saw him at work, the sensitive bees responded to.”

“He loved the bees almost as much as he loved God,” remarked one of the monks at Buckfast. That’s also the attitude of a neighbor of mine whom some call a “bee mystic” and who is taking over the work of preserving the honeybee where Kehrle left off. Faced with the same infestation of varroa mites that Brother Adam was battling before his death, Kirk Webster—who freely acknowledges his debt to the Benedictine—decided on an unconventional strategy. While most industrial-scale honey producers were using chemicals to battle the insect—a tactic that offered quick victories but long-term devastation as the mite developed resistance to pesticides, which then had to be applied in more lethal, toxic doses—Kirk allowed most of bees on his small Vermont farm to perish, figuring the survivors would emerge stronger from the ordeal.

Here Kirk was guided partly by his meditation practice, which he took up when a serious personal illness struck. The fact that he got sick from mercury poisoning gave him second thoughts about injecting even more noxious substances into the environment. And that brush with death offered other lessons as well. Impermanence is the great Buddhist teaching that Kirk took to heart.

Allowing his hives to die meant losing most of his already meager income. Several seasons were required for insects from the surviving colonies to be interbred with one another and, with a tough Russian stock, eventually creating a new mite-proof bee. This matchmaking proved laborious, not suited to factory scales or quick turnaround. But Kirk, living in a modest farmhouse at the end of a dirt road near Middlebury, was less interested in short-term profits than in what the Buddha called “right livelihood.” Mass production and monocultures, in his opinion, are the “modern methods” that are not only destroying family farms but also—by reliance on insecticides and reducing the variety of forage available to insects, birds, and other small animals— threatening to upset the delicate balance on which life itself depends.

Science is on his side. Among the monocultures that increasingly typify American agriculture are the orchards of central California. Awakened from hibernation and fed high-fructose corn syrup dosed with antibiotics, over half of all the honeybees in America, representing more than a million colonies, are trucked there each February, traveling thousands of miles to pollinate 600,000 acres of farmland where nothing grows except almonds. Some bees are shipped from as far as Australia. Until recently, the trees were being treated with neonicotinoids—a widely used class of neurotoxins that infiltrate the seeds and stems of plants, eventually making their way into nectar and pollen. Research shows these compounds interfere with both the worker bees’ navigational systems and with production of queens within the hive. Bayer Chemical finally removed almonds from the list of plants labeled for treatment with imidacloprid—one of the more common neonicotinoids—but these bio-toxins and many just as deadly are still used on other crops—from apples to berries—that have become equally dependent on interstate highways, forklifts, and aerial spraying to complete the simple act of fertilization.

While no single explanation has emerged for Colony Collapse, industrial agriculture of this scale has contributed to the disappearance of billions of honeybees in the last five years. Reflecting on the difference between having a farm and running a business, Kirk writes:

The bees for Kirk are a portal into nature, he told me. The creatures help him approach the world with greater love and reverence. So what do you get when you cross a Buddhist with a beekeeper? A person who’s gentle with himself and others. An individual committed to nonviolence (it’s been ten years since Kirk used pesticides, which were originally invented as weapons of war). Someone who knows the meaning of “enough.” A practitioner of what E. F. Schumacher called the central principle of Buddhist economics: the precept that small is beautiful. Someone who sees that even the humble honeybee is both a mystery and a reason for gratitude.

*****

Gary Kowalski is author of several books on nature, spirituality, history and science including Blessings of the Animals (Lantern Books, 2012) from which this article is excerpted. Photo courtesy of Acidpix.