In early April we had nights of solid freezing and daytime highs in the 40's with persistent cloud cover and pesky winds. The radishes, peas, kohlrabi, and spinach managed to sprout but were stifled by the cold and paused for better days. We covered them with blankets at night to keep their spirits up.
On April 5th we drove to Lafayette to join a protest. It was one of more than a thousand held across the country attracting 5.2 million participants. The intent was to send a message to Washington that we weren't going to sit idly by during a constitutional crisis or be silent while our democracy slips away.
I met a gal my age who was part of the march and struggling to walk. She said she should’ve brought her cane but she was self conscious about using it in public. In 71 years she’d never been to a protest. She preferred to stick to herself, try to get along with the neighbors even when she disagreed with them politically. “Things are different now,” she said, choking up. “I can’t just sit at home any longer thinking everything will be alright.”
There's power in a public gathering, when a diverse demographic comes together and you realize you’re not alone in your convictions. There’s comfort when a thousand people, almost twice what organizers expected, show up in a red town like Lafayette, Indiana, and the PA system proves inadequate so rather than listen to speakers we just kept marching. Passing cars honked in support, and there were chants and songs and camaraderie among perfect strangers. At one point I felt a little lump rise in my throat.
Last November there were more people who voted against Donald J Trump than for him, which is to say those who opposed him were, and still are, the majority. It may not seem so, as unpopular executive orders fly from the Oval Office like so many bats; as the greatest democracy in history teeters on survival; as the world looks on in disbelief.
I’m not the best beekeeper but I like to keep a colony or two. I was watching them fly in and out of the hive the other day, returning with pollen sacs loaded and bellies full of nectar, and I realized a similarity between the bees and the majority of Americans.
Bees live in a community where they work cooperatively for the benefit of the whole. It’s a lively, busy place, where societal duties are understood and communications are solid. They focus on their roles and one another and are highly productive and efficient.
Enter the beekeeper. On a pleasant, sunny day he makes a house call, opening and disassembling the hive. The occupants, accustomed to total darkness, are showered with vivid sunlight as individual frames are removed so brood and honey stores and overall health can be assessed. For some remarkable reason, the bees tolerate it, even though they outnumber the beekeeper by tens of thousands.
In exchange for the bees' hard earned honey and wax and pollination services, a good keeper will provide emergency food, administer medicines as necessary, and ensure housing is adequate. He watches over and cares for his bees, intent on their needs and his responsibility to them.
But let the day be cloudy and blustery, let the beekeeper be too rambunctious in his actions, let him use too much or too little smoke in an attempt to disrupt communications, or spend too much time inspecting a colony, and he’ll incite a riot. The bees will turn on him and force a reckoning.
Over 5 million bees took to the streets on April 5th. Their homes and communities, their rights and livelihoods and freedoms, are being threatened by an inept administration blowing too much smoke and causing worldwide turbulence. At the helm is a man elected by a minority of voters. He has stirred the hive.
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