Newsflash – the simple life is not necessarily the easy life.  Of course, I figured that out the first year we lived here, but somehow, I kept thinking it would get easier with more experience. Actually, the opposite is true. The longer we live here, the more the attitudes and behavior of our former fast paced life slip away (i.e. the treadmill of working to support endless consuming and waste in search of relief from the endless work required to support the lifestyle).  I miss the energy and convenience of our former world, but not enough to lose myself in that lifestyle again and turn away again from my new habit of savoring life, seeking meaning and feeling present and connected. But still, the simple life is not easy. It takes effort, sacrifice and a big ego wallop.

 This week’s fun . . .

My bees are dead. Not all of them, just the two new hives that I set up last spring. My old hive is growing stronger every year and it’s filled with bustling, energetic bees. I’ll be taking honey off them twice this year, probably getting ten pounds or more. But the other two beehives are empty, save a few dead bugs on the floor and empty wax comb.  It’s not uncommon for new beehives to have trouble in the early stages. A hive can die off due to disease or starvation. They can be robbed of the vital honey required to survive by other, stronger beehives. Sometimes they simply decide their home is not secure so they swarm, just packing up their members and moving someplace else. 

 A few weeks ago we had a killer cold front come in. I happened to be visiting Florida, so Kent had to deal with lugging water to the llamas and cracking frozen ice for the chickens. When I came home, I was making the rounds checking my animals and I noticed the top of two beehives had blown off during the wind. One was from a new hive, and the other was from my established hive. I don’t think the lids were off more than a night, and there is still a wooden top with center hole in it covering the boxes anyway, but I was concerned about exposure. So when we had a lovely 65 degree day a few days later, I decided to check the bees and perhaps feed them as a treat since I kept seeing bees around my animal cages trying to scrounge for something sweet and there is nothing blooming outside. I mixed up five pounds of sugar with water in a gallon jug and took it to the hives. As I approached, I was delighted to see hundreds of bees swarming, but on closer look they were all from my established hive. No action around my two newer hives. Uh Oh.

 I opened the lid. The hive that had lost the top was completely empty. Drat. I went to the other new hive, hoping that one fared better. Inside was a clump of dead bees and a box full of wax comb, but the hive had long since died out. I wasn’t all that surprised. Both of these new hives were hobbling along last fall, with erratic and disorganized honeycomb. I knew something wasn’t right but still, the bees were multiplying.  I guess they died in the last two months or so.

 Now, I have to figure out what went wrong so I learn from the mistake. That is the part of this new lifestyle that gets frustrating. The mistakes are endless, and sometimes, just plain sad. Both of the new hives are made of polyurethane foam,  a new fangled beehive product that is supposed to be easier to lift. As a woman handling these heavy supers alone, I thought that sounded great. But these hives didn’t get off to a good start from the get go, and all along I’ve been blaming it on the one different element – in this case, the product. I’ve been bothered that I didn’t set up another traditional wooden beehive since I at least know what to expect from that. Of course, I don’t know for sure it is the hive material. It could just be that the bees I bought were inferior, or that they didn’t get a good start because the neighboring hive was robbing them. Perhaps it is because the darn hives are leaning forward a bit (I’m still waiting for my husband to make me a sturdy table to hold my hives, and they are sitting on concrete blocks at a bad angle.

 The new hives and the two, three pound packages of bees that I invested in to set up this new system cost me about 250 dollars, so I don’t want to just toss the valuable supplies away if I don’t have to – but I also don’t want to pay 100.00 or more for more bees and spend another whole year working on them if the dang hives are going to die next winter too, before I ever get a dab of honey. Thus, my dilemma.

 I don’t even know what I’m supposed to do with the empty hives and all that wax comb. Can I put a new package of bees in there this spring, giving them a head start, or would this confuse them, or cause a further disorganized hive? Perhaps I should scrape it all out and give the wax to Mark for woodworking, or make some beeswax candles so my project isn’t a total loss. Then, do I try using the lightweight hive again, or cut my losses and stick with the one product that worked for me? Shall I attempt to split my strong hive and make a new hive for free, or will that cause me to weaken the one good hive I have? And why bother if I'm going to put them in the hive that couldn't support bees last season anyway? Besides which, I barely know what I’m doing when it comes to splitting hives….

 At this point, I guess I’ll just wait till spring to take it all apart and make a decision.  I sure was excited to have three hives going. Makes the effort seem more worthwhile. Dang. 

We’ve had a particularly wet, yet mild winter. I let my angora rabbits go too long without pulling wool, which was evident because the cage was getting big clumps of angora fur caught in the bars, and the animals were looking horrible. When you don’t groom and remove the fur, it clumps and felts, turning into one solid mass. So, I decided to spend some time on the rabbits. I had intentions to just cut a few inches of hair so they would be more comfortable, but once I started I discovered a solid clump of fur next to their skin. Dang. I cut off what I could. I didn’t want to cut it too short because I knew we could get a cold front any day, but I also didn’t want to leave all this clumped mass of fur on my rabbits or the new hair would grow out and be tangled and I wouldn’t be able to use it later, when I had the time and interest to do so. In the end, I really only worked on two of the rabbits, but I cut away more than I probably should, wanting to start fresh and being consumed with trying to get rid of all that matted hair. Of course, a week later, we had the worst cold front we’ve experienced in six years. The weather went down to 2 degrees at night. I was awash in guilt, imagining my rabbits shivering and miserable because I removed their protective coats.  Is it not enough that these poor rabbits suffer all summer because it’s too hot, now I have to make them cold too???? When I went to feed them, I saw they had crawled under the hay for extra warmth. Gee, that made me feel bad.  And I still had two rabbits that needed some kind of grooming, so the next nice day, I gave them a hair cut too, only this time I didn’t cut the fiber so low. I figured I had to leave the felted mass on their bodies even if it did ruin the fiber for me come spring.  Then (and here is another example of the endless learning curve) the next day I went to visit the rabbits, and damn if they don’t look like I didn’t cut them at all. They must have scratched away at that felted mess until it was a soft and loose as freshly grown wool. They had big, round fury bodies and they looked warm, happy and much more comfortable. I’ve had angoras for three years, but never knew they would do that with matted hair. Chalk up another new lesson on working the farm.  It is endless. Will I ever be so experienced that I’ll live one day without an “Uh oh”, or “Oh my” moment?

  Of course, I love learning new things. I love the discovery, the challenge, the sense of accomplishment that comes with amassing new skills. But some days, I really miss being an authority in my field – any field.

 I haven’t been blogging much because I’ve been focused on more formal writing – steadily working on the books I may never sell. How’s that for productivity? I was also was introduced to facebook by a friend and I’ve been linking up with “friends” as they find me, enjoying perusing their sites, looking at pictures and catching up. Remarkable, this plugged in generation and the erratic way everyone communicates now.  I hobble along, fascinated with this medium even though it feels harried and incomplete to me.  

 Mark works all the time now. He’s a natural at real estate and I’m proud of him, but I’m wicked lonely and I crave meaningful work. I’m actually seriously thinking about opening a dance studio next year (My friend George in middle America doing the “I told ya so” laugh right now – he told me I wouldn’t last a year, but in my own defense, I’ve held out for FOUR years. Remarkable considering my personality.) So, I’m writing business plans, checking out locations and doing plenty of soul searching. There are elements of the dance school business I refuse to invite back into my life, but there are wonderful, enriching elements of sharing dance with young people that I miss and after a four-year sabbatical I’m ready to put up with SOME of the crap attached to the joy. The challenge will be in structuring a positive, creative, artistic environment where dance is what counts -keeping dance parents and egotistical students from turning the beautiful process into a drama fest.  But I honestly believe that my umpteen years of experience have left me with the wisdom to do it right. I certainly know where to draw the line so I won’t crack up and walk ever again. Anyway, you can laugh at my naïveté and idealism later when I am pulling out my hair at yet another recital. One thing is for sure; the children of this community NEED a decent school. The young women around here need a role model – they need a positive relationship with a woman who is down to earth and straight-laced, educated, creative, and community oriented, and as ambitious as she is family oriented. They need to be shown that a woman can become more than someone who just gets married at sixteen and has kids…. Or obsessively works at the cost of inner growth (forgive me, that sounds like I’m judging – but really, the kids here need positive role models and they need a positive place to put their energies. They also need a way out of this community and dance scholarships might be one way.)

 Anyway, this whole thing began when Neva started begging me to dance and I realized I couldn’t write a check to the crappy little school available here. If my kid is going to dance, it has to be in a way that teaches her the true beauty of the art – and her training has to such that it will provide self awareness, self esteem and artistic growth. Some sound dance technique wouldn’t hurt either.

 So I’m toying with the idea of another studio. The other day, Mark came into the bedroom and did a little pirouette. I laughed and said, “What is that?”

He flopped on the bed and said, “I am so ready to teach again … and so NOT ready at the same time. I have mixed feelings about all this.”

I know what he means. Me too.

 The new studio would be my gig, but Mark offered to be my ballet teacher if I promised I’d never let another person teach his subject and undo his hard work. Ha. When it comes to dance we will never change – we have a certain standard for quality and we’d rather quit than be involved with training that does not uphold our vision. But hey, if I can get the best ballet teacher ever to work at my school part time even with strings attached, I’m willing. The rest will unfold, as it should. One thing is for sure – I want to keep it small so I never lose control of quality or the general attitude of the place.   

 So that is the update. Dead bees, bald rabbits and a dance school glimmer in my eye.

Not much news on the writing front. The weather is drab and it puts me in a funk. This is the only month I ever miss Florida. I’m holding out for spring where a girl’s fancy turns to her new garden, baby chicks and bottling the wine that has been sitting in a carboy for ten months. Yes, there’s always a lot to look forward to if you remember it’s the little things that count…