Combing Through the Wisdom of Bees

They told Queen Elizabeth’s bees that she had died. It’s a very old practice. People used to believe that you needed to tell bees about births and deaths, and other goings-on. That if you didn’t disaster might strike, or at least the honey wouldn’t turn out well. Apparently some people still do it. It seems like a charming practice to me whether there are magical charms at work or not. I learned about the custom of people telling their bees about major happenings in their lives when a somewhat minor character in the most recent “Outlander” book told Claire, one of the main characters, to talk to the bees he was gifting her, to be sure to inform them of any births, deaths, or leave-takings.

I learned about Queen Elizabeth’s bees being informed of her death when I went to the library today to return “Go Tell The Bees That I Am Gone” — Diana Gabaldon’s most recent book in the “Outlander” series mentioned above. I placed it on the counter and said, “What a lovely and enchanting book.” The two librarians who had obviously already read it agreed with me. One of them said, “I love the part about talking to the bees.” I agreed and said I found it magical. The other librarian asked if we had heard that they’d told the queen’s bees that she had died. I was surprised. And delighted. I would love to keep bees one day. I would definitely tell them about the major events in my life. I’m sure I’ll also end up telling them about many minor events too. Especially the odd or the magical ones.

I know spiders are said to weave the world, but maybe bees keep everything flowing between all of us. Connecting in small ways makes us all feel held. Makes us feel a part instead of apart. I love bees. And fortunately they seem to love me too. They hitch rides on my body when I take walks. They often take sips of the sugary things on my plate without pestering me when I sit on the deck that overlooks the river at the cafe I frequent.

I selected a new book, ironically a book of short stories about how people do and do not interact in a small town. (“People From Bloomington” by Budi Drama for those of you who are curious.) I brought the book up to the counter. I debated whether to use the electronic self check-out or to hand the book to the librarian. She saw my eyes dart back and forth and said, “Either way works for me.” I smiled and handed her my book.

I reached into my pack to retrieve my library card and she said, “That’s alright, I already have you cued up in the system.” I very much felt held. And seen.