It was a crisp October evening, the kind where you can feel the seasons shifting, and my brother and I were doing what we often did—playing video games on our PCs, a couple of beers in hand. The sound of clacking keyboards and virtual explosions filled the room when suddenly, during a lull in the game, I decided to browse the internet. That’s when it happened.
I have this habit, you see, of making late-night, slightly tipsy purchases. Usually, it’s harmless—maybe a quirky gadget or some obscure book—but that night was different. I stumbled upon a website advertising bees for $125. Not just any bees—three pounds of them. The listing was framed like a once-in-a-lifetime deal: 3 lbs of bees and a queen for just $125! And in that moment, it made perfect sense. My brother glanced over, half-amused, and said, "You’re not really going to buy bees, are you?" To which I confidently replied, "Of course I am! What a bargain!"
The next morning, I woke up, coffee in hand, and thought, Did I buy bees last night? A quick check of my email confirmed it—order placed, payment received, and our bees were set to arrive in April. I showed my brother the email, and after a long silence, he just said, “Guess we’re beekeepers now.”
At first, it was a joke. We knew nothing about bees, except that they made honey, and that stings hurt. But as the months passed, something shifted. We couldn’t just let these bees show up without being ready. So, we buckled down.
We watched every beekeeping video YouTube had to offer, joined local groups, and ordered a couple of books with titles like Beekeeping for Dummies. We learned about hives, frames, nectar flows, and the mysterious waggle dance. We discovered that bees communicate with one another through vibrations and that their entire existence depends on a well-organized queen-led system. It was fascinating. Suddenly, what started as a drunken impulse became a shared mission.
We ordered hive kits and spent weekends in the garage assembling them, sanding down the wood, and coating the frames in a thick layer of beeswax. It wasn’t easy—there were moments of frustration, sawdust everywhere, and more than one argument about the "right" way to hammer a frame together. But by April, our hives were ready.
Then came bee day. The bees arrived in two wooden packages, each buzzing with life. We had our protective gear, a smoker to keep the bees calm, and the hives set up in the perfect spot in the backyard. We carefully opened the packages and introduced the bees to their new homes. To our amazement, they seemed to settle in right away, exploring the frames and getting to work like they’d always belonged there.
Standing there, watching thousands of bees adjust to the space we’d prepared, we felt something unexpected: pride. We’d built this. And the bees—well, they seemed happy.
That was the beginning of something far bigger than we ever anticipated. Beekeeping became more than a hobby; it became a way of life. It taught us patience, respect for nature, and the incredible interconnectedness of the world around us. What started as a late-night whim turned into a passion that’s shaped who we are today.
And yes, we still laugh about it—because really, who buys bees at 1 a.m.? Turns out, we do.
