| Think Twice before Medicating Twice |
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This is only my seventh year of beekeeping in Shawnee, Oklahoma, yet I have not lost a single colony to either mites by treating my eight colonies-mostly Russians/Italians-only once in the fall. What works for me, I realize, may not work for everyone; however, I refuse to put the honey on my table that came from the colonies, treated, not once but twice a year, whether the beekeeper had followed the label to the letter: 1) Given the level of infestation of both mites and given the idiosyncratic disposition of unknown individual beekeepers that lurk, reading Bee-L and others, as well as those inquisitive thousands that pick up the habit and invariably quit after a year or maybe two-one can, it appears, never completely wipe out mites. Hence, what we want is a harmonious equilibrium, a stasis of Cold War if you will, and not complete extinction. 2) As much as I hate the mites, I must confess my astonishment at their resiliency. Look at the size of their brain, yet they have persevered a battery of finest snake oils. Just like humans, having explored and found a new niche, they learned to exploit it to maximum in the true fashion of a bona fide parasite. But guess who is the worst parasite of them all-not only exploiting a given environment but also decimating it to a moonscape? 3) Last year I collected two strong feral colonies, which, the property owners respectively attest, had been there many a year despite the mites. Isolated anecdotes? Of course. But the fact that they managed themselves without "my bright idea" makes me wonder and ponder the scheme of things in the universe. 4) I have no desire to contribute another red cent to the pharmaceutical companies that seem to have judiciously MONOPOLIZED the market thanks to most of us. What kind of democracy is this, anyway? The current price for these chemicals is jaw-dropping. (I don't think they are my in-laws, either.) How much is your commission for pushing these snake oils? 5) The fine line between over-medicating and not doing it enough seems to depend on individual ontological circumstance. For instance, I refuse to terramycin my bees for the simple dread of the ubiquitous AFB spores. Let them come when they come: I will burn them to hell. (Would you take AZT, while being monogamous to your wife, simply because of your fear of getting AIDS and simply because they say it is an excellent drug?) The AFB spores, too, have found the niche, haven't they? 6) Hypochondriacs may want to medicate their bees twice proactively propelled by their perfectionist propensity. Why not three times? Why not during the nectar flow? More power to them! Such aggressive treatment will aggravate human negligence, contributing to resistance, and the Big Fed will, sooner or later, want to inspect everybody's honey for consumer safety. Worse, I see three surviving mighty mites, drunkenly stagger out of the hive, having persevered the witch's brew, heading to my apiary. Most important, what are you going to do with your used strips and medication? Go right ahead. You are more than welcome to dispose them in my backyard. Now I know why you call your honey "Pure, Raw, Natural, and Organic." Considering the myriad industrial and natural compounds in it, I, too, would call it "Organic" Big Time. Of course, it is RAW in that sense. 7) Thanks to the daily concoction and the indiscriminate state-of-the-fart disposal technique ("just wrap in newspaper") of the new, often-untested, and unknown compounds, industrialized nations invariably suffer higher rate of cancer (heart attack and obesity) more so now than our grandparents' days. What does it say about our society and our living condition? Visit the "third world" for yourself and see how many people die from cancer or heart attack-albeit life is meaner and picking, leaner there. (In fact, America is the only industrialized nation that walked out of the Kyoto Treaty, and now we blame the "piss-poor forerunners" driving around on leaded gas, forgetting we did just that en masse only a few years back. Guess who owns more cars per capita than US, let alone the industrial complexes that belch foul air?) 8) Almost all the bee problems, according to my limited observation, did not come from the bees themselves; indeed, "No good deed should go unpunished." Think about AHB, for example. Old timers, "who did not know diddlysquat about fancy modern beekeeping," may have been "dumber 'n dirt" with their voodoo practice, yet they were wise enough not to create this Huxleyian Brave New World. 9) Given the spongy nature of the wax, I seriously doubt that a beekeeper will be able to completely remove the chemical residues in and on the wax, even if he/she follows the direction with religious vigor. How about the microscopic residues on the wood? Is it not a deceptive advertisement to say that your honey is PURE? At what level? Molecular, microscopic, or myopic? 10) Are we assisting the bees, like a midwife, to channel their inherent nature or are we imposing our anthropomorphic iron will on the listener that cannot hear? Bees are not domesticated dogs, and the struggle to learn their behavior never stops. Theories and ideas come and go, but bees will thrive "in spite of the beekeeper." Do you really suppose that they will go extinct if we fail to medicate them when, in fact, they have survived eons on their own, Thank you very much, before the advent of human gods? Considering this double-edged sword, almost always associated with human "progress," "discovery," or "improvement," I cringe, at my darkest moments, at the thought that the only good beekeeper could be a DEAD beekeeper. Yesterday, we had the second day in the 70's F (21 C) in January, a crazy weather pattern which, I pray, we all-knowing humans have not contributed to: the second week of January is supposed to be the coldest of the winter in Oklahoma! My bees flew in all eight directions, third time this winter. When I opened up the hives, the girls boiled out as if to say, "Hello there! We haven't smelled you for a while." Many of them have yet to touch the second deep, packed to the brim with last year's honey. And I thought out loud, "Hmmmm. . . . have I been a good servant, a born monk in the monastery of my apiary?" And I am resolved to remind myself that I am their maid, a disposable indentured servant that comes and goes, and never their Master. Yoon Sik Kim, Ph.D. |