February is very much in the air here these days. This frosty morning was followed by a mild nearly-50-degree day. The days are lengthening noticeably at both ends. The daffodils and crocuses are popping up.
The bees should be emerging for early flights when the sun gathers some strength on those bright afternoons but I am pretty confident that my hive died off this winter. I’m disappointed to lose them, and it’s ok. I walked by the hive the other morning and thought, “yup, I think it’s time to retire that hive”. And then laughed at myself, because “retire” felt a bit grandiose for the situation.
I’ve reached that part of mid-life where I have accumulated a whole lot of interests and activities and things that I quite like to do or am rather good at. I love learning new skills and exploring new crafts. And there just isn’t enough room in one life to do everything.
And so it is that I’ve learned that I’m not very good at letting things go. It’s easy enough to let go of stuff things, those of the material realm. But the things I do feel stickier. Somehow if it made me happy at sometime or I was good at it, or god forbid, it was part of my identity… it feels like I can’t just let it go.
Except that I can. I must.
So this year, the bees float off the list of homestead enterprises, with gratitude for the sweetness they have brought us.