…In search of bees…how many times have I finished a sentence with that phrase in the last three years. A Georgian man adorned in a bright and colorful ewok costume chases after me, whip in hand, while I pass through a traditional village in search of bees. I drive 8 hours over Azeri deserts brewing with mud volcanoes and cracked flowers, staring nauseously out the window, in search of bees. I fall to my knees before an ancient lake in Armenia, drinking holy water and silenced by its beauty, in search of bees. I float over flowing velvet green carpeted hill-sides in Eastern Turkey, the sounds of cowbells chorusing throughout the valley, in search of bees. I cry in a hospital, blowing my nose on sheep’s wool, wondering how so much could happen all for some great search for bees!
Phrase from Field: We drop from dark-with-mist mountain meadows to warm-with-sun mountain festivals, from playful valley towns with biblical legends to thunderous valleys filled with queen rearing bee-boxes, we sit and wait for hours in a room-full of villagers for the muhtar (chief) to return and give us an interview. Read the rest of this entry
Phrase from Field: Only hours before departure, chains and locks stand the test of afternoon rain, hail, and sunshine, a preview of their 1500 km journey from Turkey’s temperamental east to its temperate west. Read the rest of this entry
Phrase from Field: Village after village, we are graciously ushered in by the resident village Alevi imam, who sits us comfortably among patterned pillows and plastic dolls, filling our heads with stories of prophets and human rights, leaving us questioning about women beekeepers and local livelihoods. Read the rest of this entry
Phrase from Archives: In the midst of a honey harvest gone wrong, wild bees with skinny hungry waists come to raid, comb collapses like an overweight suspension bridge, and 150 thousand angry Apis Mellifera become infrared homing darts, ready to attack.