People always ask me, “How did you get into beekeeping?”

Believe it or not, it all started because I wanted chickens.

I had visions of gathering fresh eggs every morning, hearing hens clucking around the yard, and living my little homestead dream.

Then I found out…

I’m allergic to feathers.

Well… there went my chicken dream.

So my husband, Ken, looked at me and said, “How about bees instead?”

I remember thinking, “Bees? You want me to willingly bring thousands of stinging insects into our backyard?”

Apparently, the answer was yes.

So about three years ago, we signed up for a beekeeping class. We took notes, asked questions, and tried to do everything the right way. We built our bees a nice little home, surrounded it with a fence and a gate to keep our dog out, and even planted grapevines in each corner to help protect the hives from the wind and weather.

We were feeling pretty proud of ourselves.

Apparently, nobody explained the fence to our dog.

Now remember my “man-eating” dog? Well… he’s actually more of a bee-eating dog.

To this day, he still manages to sneak into the bee yard, catch a bee, and eat it.

Every. Single. Time.

He gets stung.

He shakes his head, gives me that look that says, “Well… that wasn’t my best idea,” and you’d think he’d finally learn his lesson.

Nope.

The next time he’s right back out there trying to catch another one.

I’m beginning to think the bees know him by name.

One thing we were incredibly lucky to have was an amazing mentor. Every time we weren’t sure what to do, she was only a phone call away. She patiently answered our questions, encouraged us, and reminded us that every beekeeper is still learning. Without her, I don’t think we would’ve had nearly as much success.

This past winter was especially hard.

The cold was so bitter that we lost all of our bees.

That was heartbreaking.

After putting so much time and care into them, it felt like losing a little piece of our homestead.

So this spring we started over with new colonies.

And let me tell you…

Those girls got to work!

Every time we’d check the hives, there seemed to be more bees, more comb, and more honey. They were building like gangbusters, and before long the hives were thriving again.

Finally, we decided they were established enough that we could harvest a little honey.

We never take it all. We always make sure the bees have plenty left for themselves and enough time to make more before winter.

Harvest day arrived.

I had my bee suit on.

The smoker was going.

The buckets were ready.

I felt prepared.

Now, I don’t know exactly how many bees were flying around us.

Was it 30,000?

Probably not.

But that’s the number I’m sticking with because it sure felt like it!

Everything was going great…

Until the bees decided they’d had enough of our little honey heist.

As soon as we finished and started walking away, they came after us.

Ken got stung…

Once.

Twice.

Three times.

Four.

Five.

At that point, we weren’t walking anymore.

We were speed walking.

Okay…

We were running.

Nothing humbles you faster than realizing a few thousand tiny creatures have unanimously decided you are no longer welcome.

Eventually the bees gave up, we caught our breath, and we looked at each other and just started laughing.

Because really…

What else are you going to do?

We headed home to bottle our honey.

Now, if you’ve never harvested honey before, there’s a little gate on the honey bucket that controls the flow.

Or at least…

It’s supposed to.

I was filling jars when Ken started chatting with me. Like any good wife, I turned to answer him.

Without thinking, I opened the honey gate just a little too far.

Well…

Honey doesn’t stop on a dime.

Before I knew it, about two pints of honey came pouring out.

Right onto my lap.

And all over the floor.

There I sat…

Sticky from my waist to my knees…

Watching liquid gold slowly spread across the floor.

Ken looked at me.

I looked at Ken.

And then we both burst out laughing.

After getting chased across the yard by bees…

After Ken got stung five times…

After watching my dog repeatedly try to eat bees all summer…

It somehow seemed perfectly fitting that I’d end the day wearing the honey instead of bottling it.

We cleaned up the floor.

I changed my clothes.

The bees got to keep most of their honey.

We got enough to enjoy.

Everybody survived.

Even my stubborn dog… who still thinks bees make excellent snacks.

Looking back, maybe my chicken dream didn’t work out after all.

But chickens never would’ve given us honey…

And I’m pretty sure they never would’ve given us a story like this.