Telling the Bees

There’s an old tradition that’s always stayed with me—one that speaks to the kind of quiet, respectful relationship I try to have with my bees. It’s called telling the bees.

Back in the 18th and 19th centuries, beekeepers in rural parts of Europe and America believed bees were more than just honey-makers. They were family. They were seen as messengers between this world and the next—creatures with a sensitivity to human emotion. When someone in the household died, the beekeeper would gently approach the hive, knock softly, and whisper the news. Sometimes the hives were even draped in black cloth, as a sign of mourning. The idea was simple but powerful: if the bees weren’t told, they might fall ill, stop producing honey, or abandon the hive altogether.

I find that deeply moving. Whether or not you believe in the spiritual side of it, the gesture speaks volumes about how much our ancestors respected the natural world. They didn’t just work the land or keep animals—they connected with them. Honored them. And they understood that to live well with nature, you had to listen, speak gently, and sometimes, share your sorrow.

Some beekeepers even invited their bees to celebrate—offering a drop of wine or a crumb of wedding cake, as if to say, “You’re part of this too.” There’s something beautiful about that. It wasn’t just superstition—it was about reciprocity. Respect the bees, and they’ll bless you with their golden gift.

These days, when life feels overwhelming or a little too noisy, I find peace in the quiet hum of the hives. And sometimes, when something big happens in my life, I still walk out to the bees. Maybe I don’t always say the words aloud, but I think they know. I think they feel it.

In our increasingly disconnected world, I think we need traditions like this more than ever—not for the folklore, but for the reminder that we’re part of something bigger. That even the smallest creatures deserve our care, our presence, and maybe even a whispered secret now and then.