Memories Of Bees

My first encounter with a bee was when I was four and playing with a friend in her garden. I got stung and screamed. First responder Mrs Durrett came out of the house to see what all the commotion was. Weirdly, the only other thing I remember about that fateful day or about Mrs D was that she was a member of Weight Watchers. Why I remember this latter bit of useless information, I haven’t a clue.

Fast forward six years. I was cruising towards home on my very trendy Sting-Ray Schwinn push-bike (seemingly named after the cartilaginous fish related to sharks and having absolutely nothing to do with bees). It was blue, had shiny chrome butterfly handle-bars and a white banana seat.

I remember I was pedalling and caught a glimpse of my house in the distance along with a great big black ominous cloud heading in the same direction as me. I had to stop and wait because the noisy mass of darkness was circling and descending upon my final destination. I watched in horror as the blackness slowly disappeared into the eaves of the roof. I was wary. I had flashbacks of my previous unpleasant experience and waited. It was quite some time before the stragglers dissipated.

Turns out, the bees had found comfort in the wall behind the corner of the front of my parent’s bedroom. For several days, my parents would go to sleep and wake up to hum and buzzing. The squatters would soon discover they had made a poor choice in their new accommodation.

Not wanting to be the Grim Reaper, my father thought he’d be clever and so, in the dark hours of one night when the hive of activity was quiet he climbed up a ladder with one of my mother’s nylon stockings that had its foot cut off, along with a hammer and some nails.

His plan was to fix the stocking to the entrance of the hive and that the bees would fly out but wouldn’t be able to crawl back in. He had every intention of being humane but this didn’t work (no surprise). It was the early 70s, in the suburbs of Chicago and at that time saving bees was not a thing at least I don’t think it was and so, the pest control was called in toting DDT or something of the like.

Telling this story makes me sad and feeling somewhat guilty, not that it was my fault. If my parents knew then what we know now regarding bees and other pollinators, I’m certain the outcome would have been different. Today, we know bee populations are declining at an alarming rate. According to Friends of the Earth, in the UK alone 13 bee species have become extinct since 1900 and 35 are threatened. 75% of our main food supplies are pollinated by bees. We need to do everything possible to care for our little friends. We need them to ensure our own survival.

It was not until 2018 that I really began to become aware of the importance of bees when I was I was commissioned by The University of Manchester to paint their big bee for the Bee in the City Art Trail.

Bee Inspired : Bee in the City Art Trail, 2018

During this project. I consulted with staff, researchers and members of the public which both educated and inspired me to produce the artwork and also a tangential song. To see the development of this work and hear the song please click on this: bee link

Here is the poem:

Eugene, the Uni Bee

Eugene, the Uni bee
Perfect pollinator, he
He’s a perfect worker bee
Connect, respect and love.

Look at Eugene you will see
Our global visionary
Part of city’s busy hive
Makes his mark and helps us thrive.

Eugene the Uni bee
Perfect pollinator, he
He’s a perfect worker bee
Connect, respect and love.

One bee - no bees - equals none.
Work and play on earth is done.
No bees - no life - we are toast.
Up in smoke and only ghosts.

See with hope, the light switched on.
Open doors, bees not yet gone.
Plant a flower - plant a seed.
This is what our bee friends need.

Eugene the Uni bee
Doesn’t matter he or she
Or they or us, as we are bees
Connect, respect and love.

Thank you for reading.

Kate J