‘”Well,” said Pooh, “what I like best—” and then he had to stop and think. Because although Eating Honey was a very good thing to do, there was a moment just before you began to eat it which was better than when you were, but he didn’t know what it was called.’

from The House at Pooh Corner, A.A. Milne

Anticipation. Could that be what it is called, Pooh? I’ve been anticipating for many months, just like you. All through spring and summer, I’ve watched my bees — fed them sugar syrup, and checked inside their hive once or twice (though not often) — until now. They’ve had a grand go at the hot summer months, living near my parents home in Clarkston. And boy, have they had it good: moderate temperatures for summer in the South, a garden of vegetables and wildflowers to pollinate, a creek in which to bath and five acres of land to roam.

This week, I harvested my honey. I had lots of help from bee keepers far greater than me: Cindy Hodges and Martha Keifer of the Metro Atlanta Bee Keepers Association have guided me email by email; Martha generously sent feeders to me through the mail. Cassandra Lawson, a certified beekeeper in Decatur, talked me out of using a centrifuge for my first harvest (too daunting!) and guided me through the ropes of getting to my honey without one (you can reach Cassandra at 678-431-5350 if you need help with a hive).

But it is the bees — nearly 40,000 of them — that have truly inspired me. They work steadfastly and calmly everyday. They work in rain or shine. They never complain. And they are the ultimate organizers and communicators. They pollinate 80 percent of the earth’s vegetation, and ask for nothing in return. In fact, they give us honey and beeswax.

Number one: Black widow spider

Number one: I came across this lovely lady — a black widow spider — in a “nuc” box I was using to hold transferred frames of honey.

Number two: the old red barn

Number two: The old red barn on my parents’ property. My father can’t remember the exact year it was built, only that it was sometime between 1945 and 1949 — the years he was away at the United States Naval Academy. It was once a working barn, filled with animals and a tractor from 1952 — which my father still drives. In and around its beaten walls is one of my favorite places on earth, which is why I’ve named my bees’ honey Red Barn Honey.

Number three: the bee hive

Number three: My bee hive. It really belongs to the bees.

Number four: smoking the hive

Number four: Once the hive is open, smoking the bees calms them so I can do my work in the hive. Have you ever had thousands of bees land in your hair?

Number five: capped honey in a frame

Number five: A frame of capped honey, with some burr comb and propolis (extra comb/wax at the bottom of the frame, which I scraped off with a hive tool). The bees can’t be on the frame for harvesting, so I smoked them and waved them off.  Some bee keepers use a brush or blower for this.

Number six: inside the hive

Number six: Inside the hive, the bees are beautiful and buzzing.

Number seven: harvesting the honey

Number seven: Cutting the capped honey from the frame. I’m not so sure if I did this part correctly …

Number eight: honey jars!

Number eight: Jars of honey ready to be sealed. I pressed the honey and wax through a fine sieve, removed the wax, and poured the honey into jars. I’m starting to feel as industrious as my bees.

Number nine: Honey comb filled with honey

Number nine: Honey comb in pint jars waiting to be filled with more honey. In all, I got 14 pounds of honey; not bad for a first harvest. The bees need honey over the winter, so it’s important to leave about 60 pounds of it so they have something to eat. I will also feed them sugar syrup to make sure they don’t go hungry.

Number ten: Red Barn Honey