So You’re Thinking About Keeping Bees?

by David, beekeeper, homesteader, occasional bee whisperer

Hey there. Welcome.

If you’ve stumbled across this post, odds are good that you’re a little curious about beekeeping. Maybe it’s just a passing interest — the kind that creeps in when you see honey bees dancing over your sunflowers. Or maybe you’re already knee-deep in YouTube videos about Langstroth vs. top bar hives and wondering if you’ve lost your mind.

Either way, I’m glad you’re here.

This is the very first post on HomegrownHoneybees.com, and honestly, I wanted it to feel like we’re just chatting at the kitchen table, mug of coffee in hand (mine probably has a bit of propolis stuck to the handle — don’t judge). So let’s get into it — the real beginning of what beekeeping looks like, why it’s worth it, and a few things I wish someone had told me when I started.

Bees Matter — And Not Just Because of the Honey

I know, the honey is what pulls most folks in. And fair — it’s incredible. That golden syrup from your own backyard? It tastes different. Wilder. Like it has a little bit of your soil and soul in every spoonful.

But bees matter way beyond that sweet stuff.

They pollinate about one-third of the food we eat. Apples, almonds, cucumbers, pumpkins — if it has a flower, there’s a good chance a bee helped it along. Without pollinators, gardens struggle, orchards fail, and ecosystems start to unravel.

And here’s the thing — honey bees aren’t the only pollinators, but they’re among the most efficient. Keeping a hive (or three) doesn’t just give you honey. It gives your tomatoes a boost. It brings your squash to life. It turns a quiet backyard into a buzzing, blooming micro-universe.

They’re also… grounding. I don’t know how else to say it. Watching bees work — methodically, cooperatively, constantly — has a way of calming the nervous system. You start to slow down too. Listen more. Observe better.

You become a little more like them.

Let’s Talk Myths (And Why They’re Mostly Nonsense)

Before I got bees, I had a whole list of assumptions that — looking back — were half-wrong at best and ridiculous at worst. So let’s clear a few up, yeah?

• “I’ll get stung all the time.”
  Nah. If you’re respectful, suited up, and not smashing bees with every move, stings are pretty rare. My first year? Maybe three stings total — and one of those was because I stepped barefoot on a bee drinking from a hose. (That was on me. Literally.)
• “Bees are aggressive.”
  Not really. They’re defensive. There’s a difference. They don’t fly out looking for a fight. But if you crack open their home without warning — yeah, they’ll let you know.
• “I need tons of space.”
  Nope. I know folks with thriving hives on patios. One hive doesn’t take up much room. You just need a spot with sun, a little wind block, and some decent flight clearance.
• “It’s super expensive to start.”
  This one’s tricky. Yes, there are upfront costs — gear, boxes, bees, tools. But you can start small. You don’t need every gadget. (Trust me, I bought some doozies.) It’s like gardening — you can spend a fortune, but you don’t have to.

What to Actually Expect in Your First Year

Okay. You’re probably wondering, “What’s it really like once I’ve got bees in a box?”

Here’s the honest version:

1. You’ll feel overwhelmed.
There’s a steep learning curve. You’ll read five opinions on every topic — and they’ll all contradict each other. It’s fine. Learn the basics, stay curious, and trust that you’ll figure it out as you go. Bees have been doing this a lot longer than we have.

2. You won’t get honey.
Not that first year. The colony needs it more than you do. Think of year one as an investment in their health. Let them build up. Winter’s rough on bees, and a strong food store makes all the difference.

3. You’ll become a weather nerd.
Suddenly you care deeply about rain, wind, bloom cycles, and nighttime temps. You’ll say things like, “It’s too windy for a hive check,” and “Is the nectar flow early this year?” You’ll confuse your friends. It’s glorious.

4. You’ll make mistakes.
Feeding when you shouldn’t. Not feeding when you should. Missing signs of mites. Overreacting. Underreacting. It’s okay. Every beekeeper has their list of rookie errors. You learn. The bees forgive.

5. You’ll fall in love.
I mean it. There’s something about opening a hive and seeing thousands of creatures working in harmony — it gets to you. You’ll start watching for pollen colors. You’ll talk to your bees (out loud). You’ll catch yourself smiling at a full frame of brood like it’s a dang ultrasound.

A Few Things I Didn’t See Coming

This part’s personal. These were surprises — little things I wish someone had told me (or maybe they did, and I just wasn’t listening yet).

• The smell of a hive is intoxicating. Like warm wax, flowers, and sunshine. I didn’t expect that.
• Bees have moods. Some days they’re chill. Other days they’re on edge, even if the weather’s fine. You learn to read the vibe before you dive in.
• Propolis sticks to everything. Tools, gloves, your truck seat — everything. It’s nature’s super glue. You’ll never fully scrub it off.
• Your neighbors will ask for honey immediately. Even if you tell them you don’t have any yet. They don’t care. They’re just excited.
• It’ll change the way you see the world. You’ll start noticing dandelions as vital food sources, not weeds. You’ll plant more native flowers. You’ll feel more tuned in to the rhythm of the land.

So… Should You Do It?

That’s up to you. But if you’re even thinking about bees, I’d say follow that curiosity.

You don’t need to be an expert. You don’t need acreage or a fancy setup or a biology degree. You just need a willingness to learn, a patch of land (or even a rooftop), and a bit of patience.

If nothing else, start small. Read. Watch. Talk to local beekeepers. Join a club. Borrow a suit and shadow someone. There’s no rush.

Here on HomegrownHoneybees.com, I’ll be sharing what I’ve learned — the wins, the screw-ups, the stuff no one told me, and the beauty of it all. Stick around if you want to learn more. Or just to feel like you’re not the only one talking to bees in your backyard.

And hey — if you’re already keeping bees? Welcome, friend. You’re in good company.

Thanks for reading. If this stirred something in you — a question, a memory, or just a weird itch to look up local beekeeping classes — then I’ve done my job. I’ll be posting more soon: how to choose a hive, what gear is worth buying, and stories from the bee yard. If you want to follow along, subscribe or just swing by now and then. The bees and I will be here.

Stay sweet,
David
Head beekeeper, head coffee drinker, lifelong learner