Respect for equals
The hives are at the top of happiness right now- assuming that's a feeling that other creatures feel. Or at least, invertebrates, as I don't doubt that my cat does.
The sun is out, its warm, and the blackberry is in bloom, and bees are shooting out like bright lit stars, stars with a purpose and drive, and upward into the blue. Beekeeping seems like a lot of work to me- always building things, cleaning things, checking on things... but there are those times when midway through a task, I turn around and the light is just right, and see a swirl of bees in a great vortex flying up into the sky- each one a bright yellow speck, a tiny speck of a brain with wings and a legs and intent. Its sort of the thing I like the best. Inspiring and vital.
Beekeeping unfolds for me like this surprising thing. Endless things to know- about a very, very small creature. Smaller then the tip of your little finger. Or the tip of the tip. And yet- packed with complication. Packed with what we find fascinating about ourselves: intelligence, unpredictability, the feeling that one could study them all your life, with all your smartness and devotion, and still, not know them. And plenty of people have devoted themselves, all the great beekeepers, and none broke the seal. It remains: a secret.
Its a humbling feeling, to think that this is so, and that the world, and especially, life, is something that can't be interneted and understood, can't be grasped in its fullness, is as complicated as we are (or moreso), has, despite the brilliant science we have, humbled us. No one, absolutely no one, understands half of what is happening in a bee hive. And that's just bees.
Its poetry, really. At least for me. Is like reading poetry. You read it, it moves you, there is something about the cadence and sounds and words- but dang it. You don't get it. You don't get the meaning. You figure that you're just not smart enough- or if you gave it your all and just focused, you'd get it, but- you won't. Ever.
But- its comforting. Because it has to be that the best thing out of the whole thing is the not-knowing. Because, the best thing was wanting to know. It has to be. Because, as we get older (said by many, believed by me), we realize: we pretty much know nothing. Except Donald Trump, of course. But in my experience, I'd say, there is nothing solid I know for sure. Life, or beekeeping.
Another topic:
Bees are about threes. I don't know how it can be that a number can control a whole species- or in this case, a class, but bees just seem to have three riddled throughout their lives. We are bipedal. They, tripedal. Why would the number of legs you have control the whole damn machine? Why couldn't you have three body parts, and, say, eight legs? Why a worker, a drone, a queen? Why does it take 3 weeks for a worker to mature? A six sided cell? 3 ocelli? A head, a thorax. an abdomen? Etc, etc.
It reminds me of Arthur C Clark;s Rendevous With Rama, if you've read it, you know that Arthur was at heart a beekeeper- or at least, an entomologist. Or at least respected how a number might lord it over a whole species.
What is important here is- for me- the thought that we are - as humans- dwarfed by an animal that has been here since the Miocene (check that- its not old enough)- that evolved side by side with the rats that are our ancestors, but makes no apology for not being able to write a book, or paint a painting, or get a job, or whatever, but does, quite well, what it does and is not our slave, but our equal. I am consistently in awe.
The sun is out, its warm, and the blackberry is in bloom, and bees are shooting out like bright lit stars, stars with a purpose and drive, and upward into the blue. Beekeeping seems like a lot of work to me- always building things, cleaning things, checking on things... but there are those times when midway through a task, I turn around and the light is just right, and see a swirl of bees in a great vortex flying up into the sky- each one a bright yellow speck, a tiny speck of a brain with wings and a legs and intent. Its sort of the thing I like the best. Inspiring and vital.
Beekeeping unfolds for me like this surprising thing. Endless things to know- about a very, very small creature. Smaller then the tip of your little finger. Or the tip of the tip. And yet- packed with complication. Packed with what we find fascinating about ourselves: intelligence, unpredictability, the feeling that one could study them all your life, with all your smartness and devotion, and still, not know them. And plenty of people have devoted themselves, all the great beekeepers, and none broke the seal. It remains: a secret.
Its a humbling feeling, to think that this is so, and that the world, and especially, life, is something that can't be interneted and understood, can't be grasped in its fullness, is as complicated as we are (or moreso), has, despite the brilliant science we have, humbled us. No one, absolutely no one, understands half of what is happening in a bee hive. And that's just bees.
Its poetry, really. At least for me. Is like reading poetry. You read it, it moves you, there is something about the cadence and sounds and words- but dang it. You don't get it. You don't get the meaning. You figure that you're just not smart enough- or if you gave it your all and just focused, you'd get it, but- you won't. Ever.
But- its comforting. Because it has to be that the best thing out of the whole thing is the not-knowing. Because, the best thing was wanting to know. It has to be. Because, as we get older (said by many, believed by me), we realize: we pretty much know nothing. Except Donald Trump, of course. But in my experience, I'd say, there is nothing solid I know for sure. Life, or beekeeping.
Another topic:
Bees are about threes. I don't know how it can be that a number can control a whole species- or in this case, a class, but bees just seem to have three riddled throughout their lives. We are bipedal. They, tripedal. Why would the number of legs you have control the whole damn machine? Why couldn't you have three body parts, and, say, eight legs? Why a worker, a drone, a queen? Why does it take 3 weeks for a worker to mature? A six sided cell? 3 ocelli? A head, a thorax. an abdomen? Etc, etc.
It reminds me of Arthur C Clark;s Rendevous With Rama, if you've read it, you know that Arthur was at heart a beekeeper- or at least, an entomologist. Or at least respected how a number might lord it over a whole species.
What is important here is- for me- the thought that we are - as humans- dwarfed by an animal that has been here since the Miocene (check that- its not old enough)- that evolved side by side with the rats that are our ancestors, but makes no apology for not being able to write a book, or paint a painting, or get a job, or whatever, but does, quite well, what it does and is not our slave, but our equal. I am consistently in awe.
Comments
Post a Comment