Commercial Beekeeping - End of Decades

Hey lovely souls! Come join me on a whimsical journey through my beekeeping escapades. 🐝

Embarking on the Adventure

My foray into the enchanting world of commercial beekeeping began in high school, where I landed a gig as budget-friendly labor. Back then, treatments were a rarity, and the great sugar debate buzzed on. Swarms danced in the air, hives thrived with bustling populations, and honey harvests were a delectable success. There were no routine queen replacements, and losses in winter were swiftly replenished come spring.

After college and a stint in the Army, I veered off my path as a geologist to manage a commercial beekeeping operation in Lingle, Wyoming.

Cliff Weller, the spirited founder of the Lingle operation post-WWI, would occasionally grace us with his presence. One day, while rummaging, I stumbled upon an ancient container labeled “Sulfa” along with quarantine signs. As it turned out, it served more as a deterrent against thieves than a necessity for beekeeping. Cliff was quite the character, indeed.

Subsequently, my brother and I embarked on our own beekeeping adventure in Delta Junction, Alaska. We pampered our initial package of bees with Fumidil B, and even lugged along a bucket of tetra that remained untouched.

The Twists and Turns

Upon returning to Wyoming from Alaska, I delved into commercial beekeeping on a part-time basis. Over time, prophylactic antibiotics and feeding bees sugar or corn syrup became commonplace. Hive populations dwindled, honey yields diminished, and queen failures became all too frequent. Winter losses could no longer be offset by bees overwintered; cue the imported package bees from California.

The Downward Spiral

Then came the mites. These tiny villains exacerbated all the existing challenges. In the battle against pesticide-resistant mites, commercial beekeepers turned to various barnyard concoctions, escalating to chemical/pesticide blends. Who could forget the arsenic spills in North Dakota?

I bid adieu to commercial beekeeping in 2000 but continued nurturing my hobby hives until my relocation to Florida in 2007.

A Return to the Buzz

Upon my return to Wyoming, I lent a hand to a commercial beekeeping friend who needed assistance. The scorching, grueling work was a tough sell, but I decided to pitch in. Little did I know, it would strain both the job and our friendship.

Nearly a decade had passed since my commercial beekeeping days, and alas, the situation hadn’t improved. I had embraced natural methods with my own bees and never looked back.

Working amidst beekeeping equipment in the commercial shop triggered peculiar headaches and mild nausea by day’s end. It appeared those chemicals didn’t agree with me.

Reaching the Breaking Point

In the field, my friend, stuck on the pesticide treadmill, was racing faster than ever. Despite efforts to minimize my exposure, the chemicals left me feeling unwell. Commercial beekeeping in such circumstances was a nightmare. Sometimes, you must bid farewell, even to a dream that turned into a nightmare. And bid farewell I did.

Commercial beekeeping, once a cherished dream, now fades into the sunset.

✨

With warmth and wanderlust, D 🌴🌊