COLUMN: Beekeeping

They say knowledge is power. Sometimes NOT knowing is more powerful.

We live in the information age. Knowledge comes to us on a multitude of silver platters. News channels are available to me at the push of a remote. This newspaper is brought to my front door every morning. Computers sit by the ready. If I want to know something, I can literally just yell a question to the open air and a sultry voice named Alexa will try to answer. It's a brilliant time to be alive -- except when it's terrifying.

The other night, I was putting off sleep in favor of random internet surfing. I'd made my usual pit stops on social media and Youtube, and by all accounts, it was an uneventful trip down the information superhighway. Then I took it one click too far. I followed a link on Facebook that made it hard to fall asleep that night. After all, how can one possibly relax after the most intense white-knuckle thrill ride in all of the Quad Cities? That's right -- I watched an online replay of a Rock Island City Council meeting.

Truth be told, government meetings are often less exciting than watching paint dry. Whether you agree or disagree with their decisions, God bless our local alderpeople for thanklessly sludging through the red tape of bureaucracy on our collective behalf. How our reporters can even cover these things without nodding off is beyond me. But as boring as council meetings may be, watching them fills me with a sense of civic pride. I care about my community, and it makes me feel proactive watching our government in action -- even if said action is mind-numbing votes on applications for special use permits to locate B-3 enterprises in areas not zoned B-3. Riveting stuff.

But just as I was about to drift off to pleasant dreams of seconded motions and special use permits aplenty, the council got to Item 20 on their agenda: An ordinance establishing urban bee-keeping for city residents. Umm... is it too late to table this motion for discussion?

Let's get one thing straight: I am in no hurry to repeat Chickengate. Once upon a time, Rock Island passed an ordinance allowing urban chicken-keeping. At the time, I thought it a fine idea to write a column in which I MAY have accused chickens of being smelly, noisy, and mean. The local and shockingly well-organized pro-poultry contingency was unamused. Angry chicken lovers showed up at our office and I came home to an egged door and a poo-covered porch. Lesson learned. They could pass an ordinance to keep man-eating bears in city limits and I'd remain silent.

But bees? Come on, people. We may have our differences, but I think we can all agree that bees are a menace that have plagued our fragile earth for far too long. And now you want to put up bee condos in backyards? TO THE PICKETS, EVERYONE! Who's with me? Anyone? Bueller??

Sigh. You can save your speeches, I know the drill. Bees are a vital and endangered part of our ecosystem. Pollinators are responsible for 1 in 3 bites of food we eat, and one honeybee can visit more than 2,000 flowers in a single day. Bees are nature's little friends and our best insect friends in all the land -- and sorry, but I still want to kill all of them dead.

I have an irrational fear of bees. And the best part of an irrational fear is that it's NOT RATIONAL -- so you can't placate me with rational arguments about the merits of our bee buddies. I will still act like a ninny if one flies near me. A hornet once flew onto my shirt while I was at a drive-thru window. I thought I handled the situation with poise, strength, and bravery. The fast-food employees almost called 911 because they thought the fat guy in the drive-thru lane was having a stroke (true story.) Apparantly the only noise I made while paralyzed with fear was "Gffffrrraaaaaa" until it finally flew away.

My apiphobia (thanks, Alexa) is somewhat grounded in reality. When I was little, I stepped on a hive and got stung three times. Were it not for my dad breaking multiple traffic laws racing me to the hospital, I might not "bee" here today. There's a good chance I've since outgrown my allergy to bee stings, but I'm in no hurry to find out. Bees might be YOUR friends, but they're definitely not mine.

Our ecosystem could be in tatters if bee populations keep declining, but I have faith in science. If we can figure out how to put both peanut butter AND jelly into one squeeze jar, we can surely find a non-stinging, non-Shane-killing means of pollinating our crops. And where are all these urban crops in need of urban bees? City folk don't need bees to tend their crops. They want bees because they think it's cool to harvest honey. Well, I harvest honey, too -- just up the street at Hy-Vee, from friendly cashiers who won't sting me to death. 

I was a little distracted by the hives I was getting at the thought of hives in my neighborhood, so I didn't catch who the pro-bee enthusiast was who spoke to the council in favor of urban beekeeping, but he had a nice speech about how modern bees have been bred to be honeymakers and a non-threat to humans. Well, I have a friend who raises bees (but has the good sense to do it in the country.) He's the biggest bee supporter I know, and his honey is admittedly delicious, but ask him how many DOZEN times he's been stung by his little friends. Bees don't give up their precious golden vomit without a fight -- and I don't want to get caught in the crosshairs.

My protest is pointless. The ordinance passed, but kudos to Alderman Jenni Swanson, a fellow allergy sufferer, for being the lone "nay" vote. At least if your neighbor wants to raise bees, there's now city regulations in place, classes to take, and safety precautions to be made. You even have to inform all your neighbors.

But if you're a neighbor of mine and you're setting up hives anywhere near me, please don't inform me. Just fake my signature, unless you want to see a grown man make a VERY high-pitched noise and have a panic attack in front of your eyes. Sometimes it's better to NOT know things.