Just a Little More ...
This story all began with beeswax. And, most certainly was influenced by my name, "Debbie," which means "busy as a bee."
I grew up in the city, the daughter of a farm girl. We always had a garden plot in the backyard. In Spring, we cleared the planting bed. Dad tilled the soil and Mom and I planted the seeds and seedlings. Then, we spent the summer keeping the weeds out of the rows, removing worms from the tomatoes and squash bugs from the zucchini. And, we picked vegetables as they came to maturity.
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In Fall, we "put things up," canning everything from tomatoes, tomato sauce, paste and salsas. We snapped and froze peas, canned green beans and froze corn. We pickled beets, cucumbers and watermelon rind. We canned raspberry jam. We dried various herbs, created spice blends, and dehydrated apples from our tree.
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It was a lot of work, but as a way of life, it got under my skin — literally. And, it was a way for Mom and I to stay close. Over the years, we would gather at each other's homes when it came time to put up our respective gardens. (Thanks to my upbringing, I always had a large garden of my own.)
We used this time to reconnect. While she didn't just teach me a valuable life skill, she used this time to impart so much more. And, it was during this time with her, I learned how rewarding it is to grow our own food.​
Then Mom got sick and moved to Houston to receive treatments for a rare form of leukemia. Unfortunately, her condition was not to be cured.
During my visits with her, we had frequently discussed the extreme importance and subsequent sad plight of the American Honey Bee. So, before she left us, Mom asked me to promise that I would do my part to help save the bees. It really was no big surprise that she gave me this call to action.
A year after she passed, I attended a local beekeepers course. Shortly thereafter, I placed my order for one Italian Queen and her 10,000 attending worker bees.
While I anxiously awaited their arrival, I read lots of books about bees and I got to work building hive bodies, assembling frames, creating their "home" environment and developing my protocols for collecting products from the hives. I also continued to attended meetings of the local beekeepers' club. It was during one of these meetings I met a dear friend and beekeeping mentor.
Fast-forward a couple of years (because, yes, it takes a while to develop the hives and honeycomb foundations) to my first honey harvest.
While I had frequently worked my bees alone, I had never really disturbed their hive as much as a harvest tends to do. And so, while my mentor and I were removing a honeycomb-filled frame, one of the "girls" snuck in under my veil. She wasted no time crawling into my hairline and gave me a faint tickle.
As one is prone to do, I scratched at said tickle, only to be met with a firm "bite". She had stung me soundly at my temple. Within a matter of a few seconds, my entire forehead began to swell, so much so that my eyesight was impaired.
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My mentor panicked and told me to get away from the bees immediately! You see, once a bee stings and because they really can 'smell fear', pheromones are released into the air as a call-to-arms to the other bees.
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It turns out, I am highly allergic to bee venom! Thus, the pending threat of potential death ended by career as a beekeeper. Fortunately, it did not end my love of bees nor in the products from the hive.
I recall this story as a way to bring you full circle to my entreaty into aromatherapy. You see, beeswax is the primary ingredient in so many balms, salves and lotion bars.
