In just 2 days, my husband and I will be boarding a plane to Scotland! Two weeks of vacation set apart to get the flavor of the Highlands, the Lowlands, the Isles and the cities! We are so excited! (A little nervous about driving on the left in a stickshift car while jetlagged, but we won’t think about that!)  This will be the first time for the both of us – and my husband’s first time out of the country! The last couple weeks we’ve been slowly creeping away at getting things in order: travel guides, international driver’s licenses, emails to my husband’s cousin in Glasgow who we’ll stay with for a little while (in a house that is 700 years old!).

We’ve also been trying to get things in order here at home before we leave. Anytime there is upcoming trip, I always try to use whatever leftover food there is in the fridge so that it won’t go to waste.  It turns into a sort of game. What can I make with carrots and whipping cream and eggs? How little milk can I use in my cereal so we won’t have to buy another half gallon? Does anyone else to do this? I suppose this comes from my frugal mom!

I’ve also been making sure the garden and the bees will be happy when we’re gone. We’ve planted our tomatoes, harvested some greens, and still need to find a nice spot for our happy little rosemary plant.  We’ve found someone to mow while we’re gone so we won’t have to bushwhack to our front door in June (and our neighbors won’t think our yard is the eyesore of the neighborhood).  So many little things!

Today I also did a final hive inspection before the trip. I had combined a feral hive of bees with my weaker hive a couple weeks ago when I found the feral hive had no queen. I put a queen excluder as well as a newspaper between them because of the dreaded crosscomb the feral bees had made.  These feral bees came from a cut-out I did a month ago, and before they had time to draw out the rubberbanded combs into nice, straight lines, they chewed through the rubberbands and made the combs collapse all over each other. What a mess!

The queen excluder was to make sure the queen of the bottom hive wouldn’t have any ideas about laying in that crisscrossed comb! Well, upon inspection, I found many of the big, black ferals bees dead, laying on top of the queen excluder – at least 40-50 of them. It was a very sad sight… and while brushing them off (and saving the remaining bees  a lot of cleanup time) I realized that my queen excluders are made for Italian/Carneolan-sized bees, NOT these giant German ferals, who were too big to pass through.  It is a sad lesson learned.

The advice that I’ve gotten for what to do with this crisscrossed comb they’d been filling with nectar was to let them cap it and then crush and strain the honey when it’s ready.  With the honey flow at full force right now, I am hoping that the remaining Italian bees will finish the job the other ones started! (Especially now since they won’t have to do so much cleaning out and can focus their energies elsewhere.)

In happier news, the  second hive, the stronger of the two, has almost completely filled (90-95% full) the honey super I put on 10 days ago!  I about jumped out of my skin in excitement, as I ran to get another super to throw on top. Looks like I’ll get to harvest some honey this year!

We’ve had a warm winter here in North Carolina.  I can’t specifically recall any really cold days and the one or two snowfalls we’ve had seem like foggy memories from a different time. I’ve enjoyed the warm weather; I bought a pair of roller-skates a few years back from the Goodwill and my husband and I took advantage of a warm 60 degree day last Sunday to skate around the paths at the Biltmore Estate. Judging from the open-mouthed smiles from passengers riding by, I either brought back happy nostalgic memories of times-gone-by, or else I looked the part of an eccentric, clumsy and striking in my clunky quads.

The bees have been out and about in a fury. They never really slept. I would go out occasionally in January, on a day in the mid-50′s and see them bringing in pale yellow pollen, from who knows what courageous flower. Two weeks ago the red maples opened in splendor and the bees were as excited as kids at the swimming pool! I heard the buzzing from 50 feet away. I walked over to our neighbor’s yard, where a tall maple was standing proudly.

The humming was undeniable and my eyes soon picked out thousands of bees visiting the early blossoms!

And now, 2 weeks later, signs of spring are everywhere. Crab apple tree blossoms, yellow daffodils, grape-like purple hyacinth sprouting in the yard, even dandelions, all testing the waters and then eagerly jumping into spring. I am feeling sprightly, but also nervous… those mild winters have been known to trick us before, sending in a sneaky frost like a thief in the night. I am not one to cross my fingers, but a little prayer doesn’t hurt that all these flowers and bees stay blissful in their ignorance that it has only just turned March.

A few things that have occupied my mind as of late:

1. “The Worst Best School Year Ever”: I’ve been reading this to the 3rd grade class at New City on Tuesdays. A couple weeks ago I read the chapter about the school talent show and laughed so hard I turned red! The teacher told me I’d have a hard time getting through the book, and she was right.

1. Are the bees ok?!  I’ve been having dreams about bees. I woke up this morning to the second dream I’ve had in two weeks about doing a hive inspection and finding the bees in a worrisome state. Not enough honey stores! How will they make the winter!? Something is disturbing their hive! Perhaps this is how all new beekeepers feel when their first winter is upon them. I hope they are warm enough, they don’t have any afghans.

3. The changing of the tides: It amazes me how much time and experience can change a person. Our paradigms, our beliefs, our clothing styles, even our eating habits! I think of myself 5 years ago and wonder if I would even recognize myself. I don’t even like the same music anymore! Everything I listened to when I was 23 sounds depressing now. And yet I feel more joyful and grounded than I’ve ever been (and am a much better cook now too!). It’s good for me to keep this in mind; it reminds me to have grace for people, especially those I’m closest to or I’ve known well in the past. Transformation is a subtle but sure thing. This echoes one of the best pieces of marriage advice I received: “Always be a student of your spouse.”

Volunteering at New City Christian School is my latest activity of the year, added onto a whole slew others, including beekeeping, sewing, and playing the mandolin. New City is a private elementary school that serves the urban communities in downtown Asheville. Their mission is to provide quality education at an affordable price for children whose families are economically and socially disadvantaged. In a city where only 43% of African-American kids pass their end-of-year reading and math tests, New City comes out at 97%. With only 6 full-time employees, anyone who is willing to volunteer is a great help to the school.

Tuesday is my volunteer day. While the third-graders eat their bagged lunches and drop pencils on the floor, I read aloud a chapter of “Where the Red Fern Grows”. It’s good practice for my dramatic voices. As I read, l ask the students to define words as they come up, like “taut” and “yellow-bellied”.  After lunch, I set up the chairs and projector for their choir class, and then stay to help supervise the class. Their music teacher Mr. Belz is a very animated, passionate man who bangs out jazzy chords on the piano as he leads the kids in gospel songs and old hymns. I am amazed of the voices of these seven- and eight-year olds and suspect I might see some of them standing on a stage one day. 

As yesterday was a school-wide field trip, I came early to help chaperone the fourth graders. We rode a big white bus to the college campus where an orchestra was to play a rendition of “Peter and the Wolf”. We gathered into the dimly lit auditorium; there were children everywhere! I wouldn’t be surprised if all the private schools and homeschoolers of Asheville came out for the event. I saw long trains of children, fifty feet long, holding hands as they walked to their seats. I saw scores of kindergartners wearing khakis and polos swinging their legs like pendulums, waiting for music to start.

When the conductor walked on stage, he exclaimed in booming voice how excited he was to introduce “Peter and the Wolf” through music. It was all very interactive. He had each player showcase his instrument and then play a solo. He asked all the “characters”  of “Peter and the Wolf” to identify themselves; so the duck squawked on the oboe, the cat jumped on the clarinet. “Say piccolo!” the conductor exclaimed, introducing the songbird, and 600 tiny voices excitedly yelled back. Peter lollygagged in the meadows with a joyful string melody, and the grandfather grunted on the bassoon. Two New City girls I was sitting beside giggled uncontrollably at the bassoon; they “ooohed and ahhhed” at the hunter’s timpany drum roll.  A narrator came out the tell the story of Peter as the music played. 

When the concert ended, the two girls beside me were still humming the Peter’s theme song.  In our own long, winding train, we walked outside into the cool, drizzly air back to the bus.  As we took our seats, I felt content with the orchestral music still swelling in my heart and at the sight of the kids beside me happy and making faces at each other. I grinned, making faces of my own. As we continued on our bumpy ride back, one of the teachers asked of the students wanted to sing. With a loud unanimous cheer, it was decided. The girl behind me, with the braids and the black-frame glasses, led out the students out in one of their favorite gospel tunes.  Soon everyone was singing along, even me, with an enthusiasm to rival the orchestra itself!

I was at work today and one of our contract employees came in to pickup his paycheck. While he was waiting, he asked me if I knew about the protest on Sunday. “Protest?” I asked. “Yes! All these women are going downtown and taking off their shirts.”  Incredulous at the thought, I checked the Asheville Citizen-Times, and sure enough, they had posted an article about the topless protest. What this guy failed to mention was that the cause was for gender equality.

How sickening, degrading, and foolish!  First of all,  there is no ordinance in the city that specifically forbids women from going topless, so the act is a moot point. Secondly, the only result this “protest” will bring is scores of gawking men and the scandalizing of families and children walking around Asheville. With a $10 billion pornography industry and the sexualizing of women (and men) in advertising, the last thing we need now is pointless exhibitionism.  Do they not understand that choosing to expose themselves will likely only degrade them further as sexual objects?  Are they not aware that their actions will likely only frustrate meaningful and effective causes with the same aim? 

How about instead getting involved with an event happening in Asheville called “Tears of Color” at the Orange Peel on August 26th? (www.tearsofcolor.org) This multi-media event ($10 at the door) will have musicians, dance, and a silent auction, all to promote awareness of human trafficking and to support local and global organizations trying to free women from a life of sexual slavery.  One of the organizations they are supporting is the Hope House, a rehabilitation house in Asheville for under-aged women who have been victims of the trafficking industry. 

The point of gender equality is not to make men and women blind to their differences. It is to recognize the value and worth of every single person, male or female, and to honor each other as human beings.  Women, the way we treat ourselves will directly affect the way others treat us.  A little modesty goes a long way.

The bees cooling off after a hot summer day

Last Wednesday I took a peak into the hive that swarmed. It had been about 7-10 days since the swarm, and I was curious to see how they were faring. One thing I noticed right off the bat was how light the hive was, even lighter than a week ago. I started pulling out the frames of the deep hive body, one by one. There were still some frames with cells partially filled with honey and pollen; but others, many of the others, looked like ghost towns: no pollen, no honey, and no brood.

Thankfully, in the midst of a dwindling population, I spotted the new queen! She was easy to see; long-bodied, small-winged, tan in color, and happily exploring her new territory.  I learned later that by her shape, she had been newly mated. Virgin queens are squattier; they don’t have as long and pointed of an abdomen as their mated counterparts. I was relieved to see her, but afraid that she might be an unlaying queen, as I saw no eggs. Queens with laying problems happen sometimes, and the best solution is to get another queen to replace her. But I later learned from a beekeeping friend that it takes a new queen 4-7 days after she has mated to start laying eggs.

It’s a pretty lengthy process to get a new queen established in a hive that has swarmed; first she must hatch, then, 10 days later, she spends a day or two on her mating flight, sometimes mating with as many as 10 or 15 drones. It can take up to a week for her to start laying. We’re talking about 3 weeks of very important activities, and all the while the worker bees, who have a 3-4 week lifespan in the summer, are dying off. Everything must go smoothly for the hive to survive! And yet, the bees do this all time. As much as I, the beekeeper, want to help and ensure their survival, the bulk of their success relies on them. We must leave it to them to take care of themselves, even as I watch with nervous anticipation of how the whole thing turns out!

Well, today, I peaked into the hive again. And what did I find, but uncapped and capped brood! Granted, it was only 1-2 frames, but I am happy.

Another point of interest: I got stung for the first time! As I was checking out the 2nd hive last week, one of the bees who had dropped in the grass crawled up my pants onto my leg! I first thought it was a drop of sweat (it gets hot in a beesuit, especially in 92 degree weather) but then I realized that the drop of “sweat” was going UP! I slapped it (didn’t want it going any further!)  and felt a tiny pinch. I was very excited because I’ve been curious to see how I’d react to the venom. It took 24 hours to swell up to the size of a kiwi, and it was very itchy!

I also learned my lesson… today another bee found her way up my pants. I walked calmly away from the open hive, and shook my pantleg a little. The little bee fell right out and landed in grass!

Yesterday I decided to go get a haircut from the local Hair Design school in town. It’s a great deal, only $7 to get your hair shampooed and cut, and both times I’ve gone, I always get a very friendly student, usually a young woman, who loves to tell you stories. Well, this time, I was the guinea pig of a girl named Tori who was just a few weeks away from graduating. As she snipped away, she was telling me all about her dreams of opening a hair salon somewhere and was currently debating on whether to move to Atlanta, GA, or Nevada. She caught me off-guard though, when she told me she was going through a separation! This young girl looked only to be about 20 years old. I asked her where she met her husband, and she sighed, “High school. Not the best place to meet somebody.”

I told her I was very sorry to hear about her separation, and that my own parents had separated when I was younger.  What I really wanted to ask her was what had gone wrong; but I concluded from her tight-lipped “thanks”, that she didn’t really want to talk about it. Sometimes doors just don’t open, and you pray that someone, somewhere, will be able to offer comfort and guidance to mend a broken heart.

These days I’ve been hearing rumors of marriages facing hardship. It pains me to know that people I care about can’t seem to work things out, and I dread seeing familiar faces on that anonymous-looking statistic that 50% of marriages end in divorce.  I consider it a true miracle that my own parents decided to stay together after 2 years of separation, but that trial instilled in me a desperate fear of marriage that took its own miracle to dispel. I am eternally grateful to have met a man who shares the same vision for marriage as a covenant that I have. There is no room for the word “divorce”; only room for grace, and God’s guidance, and love.

I was thinking about this as I walked to work this morning, how important it is to create an atmosphere for love. Just as we feed ourselves everyday, make sure we’re properly dressed, give ourselves rest when we’re tired, so does love between people require its daily care. It takes patience, and kindness, thoughtfulness, and encouraging thoughts.  If anyone thought love just “happens”, then I would challenge them to think of that understanding in the same light as a blind person driving a boat! Not to say you can’t love easily! There are many things that are easy for me to love about my husband! I love how he wakes me up so gently and cuddly in the morning, or how he knows when I need a hug. I love how he loves to experiment with sauces in the kitchen, and how he gets so excited about creative projects, how I can tease him about being colorblind (“Do you like my green shirt?”).

 But still, none of us are perfect, and one important thing love requires is having grace for each other. It requires listening to that person’s heart, and celebrating the essence of who they are, gently sharing a better way, and of course showing affection!  It’s all through the grace of God that this marriage happened in the first place, and it is certainly one of my highest priorities to protect and strive for this extraordinary marriage now that it’s under my care!

As for broken or breaking relationships, I am no marriage counselor. I don’t have the answers for someone who’s been hurt, or cheated on, or felt trapped their whole marriage.  But this thing I know: “Did He not make them one, with a portion of Spirit in their union?”

I suppose it happens to every beekeeper at one time or another: Swarming! The process by which a new queen is raised up in an active hive, and the old queen takes off with half of the bees to a new location. It can happen because of overcrowding in the hive, or issues with ventilation, especially in the hot summer months. Sometimes it happens for no viable reason, besides that it is built into the bee’s genetics. (It is, after all, the natural way for bees to survive and propagate in nature.)

 However, is always sobering when you realize that your own bees have swarmed! Last week the neighbors called my husband (I was at work) and told him they’d seen a cloud of bees flying around the neighborhood. It landed on the hood of their car, and then took off across the street to another neighbor’s eaves. Strangely, the bees returned to the hive. When I got home I visited the neighbors thinking I was going to find some terrified witnesses, but they went on and on about how fantastic and exciting it was! I was glad they weren’t scared witless, though sorry I’d missed the sight (and even sorrier the bees had swarmed)!

I called my trusty beekeeping friend Jon and he told me that if they had returned to the hive, they had probably realized they’d left their queen. Sometimes, if it’s an old queen, her wings are tattered and she can’t take flight. But since this is a new hive, either her wings were nibbled by the workers in the introduction process, or she might have just been too fat to take off! (Bees right before swarming will gorge themselves on honey, since they’re leaving all their food stores to set up a new home elsewhere.) Jon told me I had two options, as the bees were likely to swarm again. Either I could split the hive into two, or I could go through every frame and scrape off every swarm cell I found.  Either way, I needed to act quickly!

Here I was faced with a dilemma. I already had 2 hives, and was not really in the position to buy another set of hive equipment (this runs about $200 when you’re all said and done). So I decided to test my luck and go through the hives and take out the swarm cells.  I donned on my suit and got my smoker, as my husband graciously started making dinner!

What I found surprised me: the hive was bursting with bees! The sight of all those bees was comforting; I knew there was still hope, but I need to be very diligent about finding every swarm cell.  Scraping off swarm cells is a little bit of a difficult process! First, bees are all over the frames, and usually hiding the queen cells.  You have to balance the frame on the top of the hive in such a way as to have one hand free to brush the bees away, and then scrape the peanut-shaped cell off with the edge of your hive tool. And what I found was a little discouraging; I pulled frame after frame loaded with bees, buzzing with excited energy, and what I found was eleven of those queen cells spread all throughout the 2 hive bodies. With a tinge of sadness I scraped off the cells, because it’s always sad when you have to kill something, even if it’s for the good of the hive. 

After it was all said and done, I went back inside, knowing I would have to repeat the process in 6 days, as that’s how long it takes for new queen cells to emerge. As I walked inside, there was a part of me that mourned. I suppose this defeated feeling is known to most beekeepers; bees swarm, colonies that were once the strongest become the weak ones; you realize maybe you should have done something differently. But I know I am a beginner; I can’t expect to know all the signs. This is how we learn. Nonetheless, I was thankful to have a consoling husband to come back inside to, who had put together a wonderful meal while I was pulling out frames.  (What would I do without him?)

Well, yesterday was the day I needed to recheck the hive. As soon as I opened the outer cover, I knew half the bees were gone. What a sad sight, though I confess I half-expected it! During those 6 days, I’d noticed a remarkable decrease in activity at the hive entrance. Since I already had my smoker going, I went ahead and pulled out all the frames. What I found  were 3 queen cells, 2 of which were empty. I didn’t find the queen, but then again, even with 20 or 30 thousand bees she would be hard to spot, especially being new and unmarked! I was satisfied to see what I thought were eggs in the cells. I am crossing my fingers that there is, in fact, a laying queen inside that hive. They always say that a swarm in July “isn’t worth a fly”. So late in the season, it would hard for a severely diminished hive to build up enough for the winter. But I am hopeful; there is still the August nectar flow and winters here are relatively mild. I guess we’ll just have to wait and see!

In the book “Fried Green Tomatoes and the Whistle Stop Cafe”, there is a scene where Ms. Threadgoode, the 90 year old woman living in a nursing home is talking to Evelyn, an overweight, middle-aged woman who doesn’t know where she fits in the world. It made me smile when Ms. Threadgoode suggests that she should get some hormones, find a job to get out of the house, and read Psalm 90 everyday.

Curious, I found the psalm and read: “The years of our life are seventy, or even by reason of strength eighty; yet their span is but toil and trouble; they are soon gone, and we fly away. .. So teach us to number our days that we may get a heart of wisdom.” (10 & 12)

I’ve been thinking about this recently.  Sitting in a coffeeshop this morning, I saw people in and out, holding their coffee cups and in their own little worlds, wondering what it is exactly that they aspire to.  Do they just want to be happy? Comfortable? Intelligent and clever? I realized that for myself, it has been one of my hopes to be known as wise, and kind, and compassionate. Maybe that’s one of the reasons I started writing songs, to create an outlet for my voice in the world, to offer some sort of lyrical wisdom and meaning.  And yet, so often, I am not these things. There are times when I am just plain weak, and judgmental, and at a loss for words. It’s humbling to realize that despite our best intentions, at times we are only wise in our own eyes.

And yet, further down in that same psalm: “Return, O Lord! How long? Have pity on your servants! Satisfy us in the morning with your steadfast love, that we may rejoice and be glad all our days.” (verse 13 &14) Even though my days are like a breath, like grass that withers in the evening, I am glad to know the Creator of all things.  I think of all the generations before me, and of all that will come after, and imagine the millions of people who led quiet, simple lives, but yet they were fulfilled. They loved deeply. They dreamed dreams. And even if their memory vanishes without a trace on earth, the One who made and knew their innermost parts remembers.  I am thankful to be loved by Him.

It is out of that understanding that I want to live, and create, and be joyful. I want to humbly seek out wisdom from the One who makes sense of everything. And though I will never know everthing, and though I will struggle with hard questions and make imperfect decisions, if I can love just a fraction as well as Jesus did, I will be thankful. I want to always celebrate this life, to steward it to the best of my ability, and to be able to cry out in all humility, “Let the favor of the Lord our God be upon us, and establish the work of our hands upon us; yes, establish the work of our hands!”

A couple days ago I got to meet up with an old friend who used to live in Asheville and was visiting for the week. We found a cute little cafe downtown with huge windows so we could catch up and people-watch.  She told me about living in D.C.,  her tiny efficiency apartment, and her adventures exploring the songwriter underground (she and I used to be part of a songwriting group together).

She also told me about her woes in meeting semi-eligible bachelors (what are they, all the rage?). One guy had a great personality, was artistic, kind, but awkwardly shy, to the point where he’s probably never been on a date. Another had some common interests (and they even lived in the same apartment building!) but completely unpursuing!  Now my friend is outgoing, funny, pretty, and very likeable. I just have to wonder, is that the story these days? I seem to have two kinds of friends: those already happily married and starting families, and those who remain oddly unattached.

When I got home that night, it made me all the more thankful to see the man  who had won my affections!  I don’t say this without a sense of empathy to my single friends out there; I’ve been in that place, wondering when and if some magical moment will happen and I’ll sacrifice myself to love like prisoner jumping off the plank. Yesterday I realized, smiling, that it has been 2 years and a couple months since returning from Swiss l’Abri. I now consider that time as a lesson in humility. I came back waving my white flag after I left everything – community, job, friends, wisdom – to try my hand at a “potential relationship”. It didn’t take me more than a few weeks to realize how disastrous and wrong my assumptions had been! But it touched me deeply to be welcomed back to my community and home so warmly, even if I ended up jumping off the wrong plank. 

But God, despite our pathetic efforts, is good; and it didn’t take more than 2 weeks for me to meet the man who would be my husband (how’s that for a redemptive ending?). We’ve been married over a year now, and I still can’t get over how perfectly we are suited to each other. (Who else can I dance in the kitchen with while we make dinner? Who else knows when I need a good hug, or an adventure, or a really strong cup of coffee? And who else is my favorite person to be with at the beginning and end of day?) Love is an amazing thing! And what is better than a joy-filled, strong marriage to hold it together? It is my sincere desire that my single friends out there won’t lose hope as they wade though what seems like endless waters… sometimes you catch the boat after you thought you missed it.