My love of bees

My love of bees started when I was about 9 years old when my father recounted various stories (some of which may have been true) regarding the raising of bees in the southern US states. In my personal experience, I believe most of them.
One of my earliest intimate experience with bees was when I was 17. Cut-off jeans, white tee shirt and flip-flops. I literally hummed to them as those sweet girls hummed back at me. Many years since I have had limited contact with the most complex insect I have ever encountered until..
2005, Avignon, France. Site of the 14th century Papal See. I was sitting on an old marble monument in the outer courtyard debating theology with my (then) brother-in-law when we were trying to define the undefinable G.o.D. I told him that I basically reject the “Church’s” definition of God. “Where I see God is in the small things.”

“Look,” I said and raised my index finger to the sky. (Because I saw her at that instant)
A honey bee landed on my finger and started to lick the small sweat on my finger. “This is god,” I declared. “In all things simple and pure. She IS beautiful, is she not?”

I have boxed up swarms, raided tree honey combs, walked half naked through apiaries and been stung lifetime only about 40 times (I am 55) when I should have been stung at least 5k times.

I love bees and they love me back. That is the only secret anyone needs to know about bees. So the next time you see a bee struggling across a hot plaza/a concrete open space, and if that bee looks like she is on her last gasp… put out your finger.
Let her take a break.
Love her.
She will love you back.