Thousands of Bees in the Back of My Car

I nervously glanced in my rearview mirror.

I could feel my heart pulsing.

I ran through the scenarios in my head. Someone rear ending me. A sharp turn. A blown tire.

One wrong move and thousands and thousands of angry, pent-up bees would be suddenly released from the cage sitting in my back seat.

I shifted the car into drive. “Here goes nothing,” I thought. The hum of the bees grew louder with the car in motion. There was nothing to do but pray.

Let me explain.

Almost a year and a half ago, HeartBound began a gardening program at the largest prison in Georgia. Each week I meet 7-10 men in the garden where we learn horticultural skills, discuss what books we’ve read, and more often than not, sweat!!! The once dull-and-unused space we were given by the staff is now a blossoming oasis of color, beauty, and delicious fruits and vegetables. Our garden is home to prickly blackberry vines, towering okra plants, and plump bell pepper bushes. We have bright orange day lilies, stately oakleaf hydrangeas, and a magnificently stoic Japanese Maple. It’s been such a joy to see the men at this prison take pride in this space – even the ones who haven’t gotten an opportunity to work in the garden yet. When I walk through the prison’s hallways, I’m often stopped and asked how “our garden” is looking. God – the original gardener - has been good to us.

After seeing the initial success of the garden, the Warden asked if we could also install beehives. In case you don’t know, HeartBound has a history with beekeeping programs – we operate a beekeeping class at the Atlanta Transitional Center. Our “Hard Time Honey” program has resulted in over 10 incarcerated learners becoming University of Georgia certified beekeepers and our honey has twice won the Georgia Beekeepers Association best-tasting-prison-honey award. Expanding our beekeeping programming to a new prison wouldn’t be any issue at all, except for one tiny problem: I’d now have to lead the program myself.

At the Atlanta Transitional Center, we use formerly incarcerated beekeeping graduates to teach the program. But at this other prison, outside volunteers aren’t allowed to teach. I couldn’t simply ask the men from the Atlanta Transitional Center to come teach another class; I’d have to teach it myself.

So, I began learning. I’d call them at night once they were off work and pick their brains, learning the process for myself.

A problem arose - all my knowledge was theoretical. I could imagine working in the hives, picture myself following their instructions, but until our new bees actually arrived, I had no real practical experience.

Finally, spring rolled around. I placed the order for our bees and waited for them to arrive.

One day the Post Office called. “We have a box of bees for you, but we can’t deliver it. The bees are getting out. You gotta come get them.”

I rushed over to the Post Office. The bees had arrived a day early. I wouldn’t be able to take them to the prison until the following day when it reopened. I inspected the box of bees carefully to see where they were escaping. Finding no openings, I assumed that the 5 or 6 bees swarming around were just curious neighbors. I took the box and placed it in my car. It’d have to sit there overnight until I could drive it to the prison in the morning. Back home, my roommate met me outside. He eyed me warily and said, “You’re not bringing those in here, right? What would we do if they got out? What would our landlord do about that?” I weighed my options. I cracked my car window ever so slightly. I didn’t want any neighborhood bees to get a whiff of the bees in my car and decide to pay a visit. I slept uneasily that night, praying I didn’t awake to a car full of bees.

The next day I opened my car door and was greeted with silence. In the dim light I could barely see the package of bees in the back of my car. I shone a light on the package and was relieved to see them still alive.

The sun rose as we drove in near silence. (“What do bees like to listen to?”, I thought to myself? I certainly didn’t know. Something in the key of “B”? 😊 As the sun peeked over the horizon, the bees began to wake up. A hum began to rise as the thousands of bees now swarmed around their cage. I could feel my grip on the steering wheel tighten.

After two hours of driving, I made it to the prison. The guard at the front entrance waved me through almost immediately. He didn’t want to spend any more time around a box of angry bees than he had to. I gingerly carried the box of bees up a flight of stairs, holding the box far out in front of me so the bees couldn’t sting me through the mesh. I wondered to myself if I should be wearing a beekeeping suit or if that would draw too much attention. Too late now, I thought.

This particular prison is so big that it takes me about fifteen minutes to walk to the garden. Men stopped and stared as I passed by. One guard asked why I had crickets with me. Upon closer inspection, he recoiled in horror. Everyone looked at me like I was mad.

Finally, I made it to the garden. The students were waiting for me, nervously shifting from side to side, wondering who’d have to be the one to put the bees in their new hives. I asked for two volunteers and was met with silence. They glanced at one another warily. After a few moments, two of them nodded to each other and stepped forward. I checked their zippers and pockets to make sure there was no way for the bees to get inside their veils. Underneath the beekeeping jacket, the men wore their flimsy prison-issued clothing. I knew their clothes wouldn’t be thick enough to stop a bee sting but didn’t want to scare them. I gave them each fist bumps and wished them luck. They’d studied for this moment and knew what to do.

As J. picked up the package of bees, they issued an angry hiss in reply. D. walked over and reassured him. “You got this, just be careful.”

Over the next two hours, I watched something remarkable happen. Something transformative.

J. and D.’s fear melted away. While at first they were moving robotically, carefully watching each and every movement to make sure they didn’t get stung, I saw them begin to work together, reassure one another, talk each other through their fears and anxieties. I watched them gaze with wonder into the hives, marveling at the thousands of tiny little creatures going about their tasks, each performing a job to keep their colony alive and healthy. While just minutes before J. and D. were afraid to even get near the bees, now their faces were mere inches away from them as they pointed out behaviors and characteristics they’d learned about in their books. But perhaps more than anything, I saw them both having fun. Their faces were plastered with smiles as they summoned the other students - who didn’t have bee suits I might add -  to show them that as long as you respected the bees and treated them gently, they wouldn’t bother you. At one point I even found myself with my unprotected hand inside the hive as I shifted around a boardman feeder.

Later that afternoon as J. peeled off his bee suit, I overheard him talking to D. “That was the coolest thing I’ve ever done. And just to think, I was so scared of them.”

A couple weeks later the men and I gathered around one of the hives. Another student carefully dipped his finger into one of the frames. We had an idea of what we were looking at but couldn’t be sure.

He pressed the finger to his mouth and paused. A smile began to spread across his face. He nodded slowly.

“Honey.”

Thank you for supporting HeartBound, and on a personal note, for giving me the opportunity to work the coolest job in the world. I am eternally grateful.