I just had one too many die-offs of my bees. I tried to call it quits last summer but a new swarm of bees moved into the hive before I knew it. But now, with my poor hive of bees once again dead this winter, I have officially barred myself from the sport of Bee Keeping. I've packed up all my equipment and given it to two people - Michael who is just now getting into bee-keeping and Kicki a seasoned bee keeper. I have offered to help them anytime. I think I am an adequate assistant but I do not want to be the decision-maker.
I will miss bees so much: the unbelievable smells: smokey burlap burning in the smoker mixed with raw un-evaporated nectar. I'll miss squating by the beehive just watching the traffic in and out and learning so much about the health of the hive from what I saw and heard. I'll miss the roar of bees about to swarm - it reminded me of an approaching train.
My only regrets are the bees I killed and that I never found a Mentor.
What will my kids think when they see me throwing in the towel? I've got to say that some of my biggest leaps of growth in my life came off the tails of giving up. Sometimes you just have to accept reality - that's one way to worship in the Church of What-Is.