The Beekeeper’s Lament (2011): Written by Hannah Nordhaus and Published by Harper Collins

The Beekeeper’s Lament is a popular title among honey bee enthusiasts. However, it provides a surface-level description of beekeeping and lacked the conviction needed to impassion a general audience about honey bees.  This seemingly contemporary and insightful nonfiction piece was published in 2011 by Hannah Nordhaus, a female journalist. Its title hints at describing the sensitive and often emotional field of beekeeping, and the connection a beekeeper feels to their hives in the age of unprecedented losses. Additionally, the premise and content follow and uplifts one type of beekeeper: a white, male lineage holding a monopoly of commercial beehives, in an industry that exacerbates the problems facing honey bees today.

The Beekeeper’s Lament is intended to be a very useful and informative book for those wanting to learn the basics of beekeeping: the invention and style of the modern beehive, the structure of a honey bee colony, and the most dangerous pests to bees. Colony Collapse Disorder is a strong focus, readers learning about its origins, details, and personal anecdotes. The focus is on commercial beekeeping.  A commercial beekeeper, according to Nordhaus, is someone who manages over 300 hives and makes most of their money through beekeeping. Nordhaus describes the process of transporting bees en masse across state lines, feeding them corn syrup over winter, and harvesting their honey, all without a hint of bias from the author. While informative, her writing seems misleading to those seeking information about honey bees and beekeeping. This is due to a lack of elaboration and emotion in the writing, as well as focusing only on one person and his colleagues.

John Miller, the protagonist of The Beekeeper’s Lament, is a longtime beekeeper from North Dakota. Nordhaus spent time following him on the job. She writes about Miller with reverence, describing his poetic email writing and humor. However, some details about him left me feeling uncomfortable and disappointed that he became the focus of what could have been such a special book. John Miller is the head honcho of commercial beekeeping. He was the first to harvest 1 million pounds of honey from his hives in just one year. Miller Honey Farms is one of the apiaries that ships thousands of hives to California every spring to pollinate almond trees. Because of this, Miller calls himself a “migrant farmer.” He also said that he is one of the “only native migrant farmers left” because most people that travel to farm are immigrants. Miller describes this with pride. However, he isn’t native to the United States (nor are honey bees), and the work of any farmer shouldn’t be discounted or unappreciated due to nationality. John Miller hails from a long family line of white, male beekeepers before him. He describes the most legitimate commercial beekeepers in the United States as the “dads and lads”.

Based on my experience with commercial beekeepers, John Miller, unfortunately, fits the bill. In a world so overpowered and harmed by legacies of white men, I feel let down that Miller became the uncriticized focus of this book. Although commercial beekeeping, and the men who spearhead it, accounts for most of the honey bee revenue in the country, there are restorative and grassroots beekeepers who are just as knowledgeable on the insect. They’re pushing against the commercial method of beekeeping and honey extraction because it’s quite harmful.

The challenges to honey bees that Nordhaus describes include pathogens, lack of food quality, and loss of bees. Surprisingly, she doesn’t touch on how commercial beekeeping actually worsens these problems. Commercial apiaries cram hundreds to thousands of hives near each other or stacked upon one another in transit, which increases the rate of pest and disease transmission, and bee losses due to drift or conflict. Additionally, commercial beekeepers tend to harvest as much honey as they possibly can from their colonies, then feed the bees corn syrup over the winters, which worsens their nutrition. Rather than discussing the flaws of commercial beekeeping, or potential changes for the field, Nordhaus skips the bee ethics for human problems. One of the few times when Nordhaus integrated emotion into her writing was when discussing the loss of commercial beekeepers due to the difficulty of turning a profit or the difficulties of the job, such as long travel or frequent stings. Her overall message, it seems, is that beekeeping isn’t for everyone — only the most rugged men and their sons persist.

I don’t recommend The Beekeeper’s Lament to those hoping to learn more about honey bees and beekeeping. The author’s lack of emotion or artistry in conveying the intricate nature of the honey bee, and their relationship to humans, failed to deliver any convincing message or takeaway in the end. She focused on the most negative aspects of honey bee life (Colony Collapse Disorder, pests, chemicals, etc.), yet positively described a problematic industry with a long way to go. In the end, I’m glad I read it, since commercial beekeeping is part of life, for humans and for bees. However, readers should supplement their bee arsenal with work by innovative and restorative beekeepers with different outlooks on their occupation. Some restorative beekeepers to learn from are:

 Ang Roell of They Keep Bees (IG: @theykeepbees), a queer non-binary beekeeper focused on “radicalizing the hive” and teaching more LGBTQ+ beekeepers.

Southwest Detroit Beekeepers (IG: @swbeetroit), spreading beekeeping outreach to strengthen local ecology and business.

Black Hives Matter (IG: @blackhivesmatterproject), decolonizing beekeeping by supporting black beekeepers and their business