A therapeutic experience

People say it's an addictive job: taking care of bees that surround you with that menacing buzz. But it's more like a slap of reality.

Jaime Lapuente, beekeeper from Lleida, taking care of bees in a hive located in Llardecans. Photo © Albert González Farran

Bees are an endangered species. Climate change and globalization raise concerns about the future of this essential insect, which not only sweetens our lives with its honey but, above all, helps maintain our crops and the entire ecosystem. But it's not just the bee that's threatened. Beekeepers are too, finding themselves in a real business dead end. This is not only due to the difficulties bees face in surviving in an increasingly complex world, but also because their profession is sadly becoming less essential in the capitalist market. Few young people want to dedicate themselves to it, not precisely because of the dangers that bee attacks seem to entail, but because the work seems too intense and requires too much dedication. The fact is, the culture of hard work is no longer in vogue.

Jaime Lapuente opened the doors of his farm to me. "It will be a therapeutic experience," he promised. And in a way, it was. Being inside a uniform and feeling the bees buzzing around me initially raised my stress levels. My only concern at first was that one of the bees would manage to penetrate the mesh screen in front of my eyes and sting me. But then I discovered that bees have other concerns, far removed from mine.

Of the thousands that flew around me, some of them seemingly irritated, not one sacrificed itself to attack my dress. The bees were simply disoriented by my presence and wanted to get back to their usual work as soon as possible: fertilizing, pollinating, caring for their queen, protecting the eggs, filling the hive with nectar to feed them in times of cold or danger... There is nothing that concerns bees more than their survival. Not their individual survival, but that of the entire colony.

And this was precisely the therapeutic experience. Realizing that I wasn't the most important person, even though I often think so. The therapy was revealing to me that I am part of a whole, a tiny part of a machine that works, that seems to lose its balance, but that will never stop. Undoubtedly, vicissitudes will transform it, even bring an end to human existence, but it will never disappear. Life will continue in its most sustainable forms, certainly without our presence, which we consider so important.

That therapy was effective. A true lesson in humility. Taking off my uniform at the end of my visit made me realize that, indeed, I hadn't mattered to the bees at all.