Scared Betty

Change can be scary, ask Betty. He's terrified of storms. He wants his summer back.

Change is bittersweet. Though I have welcomed this changed, even threatened and boasted of the desire for it for years, I’m a little sad right now. There is always a moment right before change takes place that the original seem more appealing than ever.

I have had numerous opportunities and benefits from my current (at least for the next six days) employer. However, through the years, I have continuously found something to complain about: the drive, the academics, the administration, the philosophy, etc. This is simply human nature. I have been an outsider in this community, and I have truly felt it many times. I have said many times that I would get out when I had the chance. But for five years, I never truly looked.

And this job fell in my lap. Within five days, I was informed of the opening; given an improvised, last minute interview; and offered the job. It all happened so fast. This job, the job I had dreamed about for three years, was right in front of me. I could no longer make false claims or idle threats. Do or die. Take it, make true, or let it pass by, staying in comfort.

During the decision-making process, I weighed what I would be leaving with what I would be joining. And it never fails, no matter what job one is giving up, that the current job is suddenly attractive again. I romanticized it. I remembered the best students, my favorite co-workers, the priority I had in many situations, the clout I had built up through the years, and most of all, my team and their parents. It all seemed so pleasant. Why should I leave it?

But then I remembered my aim as an instructor. My dream of teaching English was to be like my favorite AP teachers and professors in college. I wanted to inspire, do more than just teach the basics. I wanted to be in an academic climate. I forced myself to remember those times mid-semester when I wanted to simply do my job but I was faced with extra duties and not being backed up with the academic load I tried to put on the students. It was those moments when I wanted to be somewhere else.

And I reminded myself that I cannot spend my entire teaching career in one school system. I know better than that. I must be diversified. I can’t be satisfied having one source for my principles. I need the experience. And I think I need the challenge, the push of a new school.

So, after much more searching, I took the job. Yesterday I sat with my director of schools, a man who has been infinitely helpful to me. We discussed my future and goals, and like the true gentleman he is, he wished me the best of luck, giving me his full support of my decision. And then it really hit me what I was leaving.

Today, summer school ended and I packed the last of my stuff into my car. I took a last look around, and I began to feel the emotion I had been packing away. I don’t do emotions well, and sadness is almost alien. Anxiety is the only emotion I regularly feel, and that’s what been on high alert lately.

Though my job description will not be changing, I am still an English teacher after all, my surroundings will. I have to continually remind myself that I know how to do my job. I’ve been doing it well for five years. This is just a change of scenery, with a little bit of a change in philosophy. But a welcomed change.

For five years, I have worked in an ultra-conservative environment. Prior to that, I went to school in an overbearingly conservative institution. No one could be surrounded by such blindly conservative beliefs for 9 years and not be affected. Perhaps at first, in college, I felt comfortable. But once I started to come into my own beliefs and ideas, I felt I could never voice them. Then I took this job I am now leaving. My surroundings were so closed minded to even my moderate views. I was seen as a bleeding-heart liberal. And after being told I was too liberal to voice my views around my colleagues, I began to want to distance myself from my surroundings. A number of those in this surrounding have accepted the dogmas of their friends and families so willingly, without any personal searching, and they openly voice their opinions without any knowledge or certainty. It is from these people that I have become who I am, having fought for the reasoning behind my beliefs.

Now that I leave this place for a more liberal setting, I wonder if I will become more conservative. Perhaps I will fit right in with my new liberal colleagues. Perhaps they will push me to develop and try many of the things I have wanted to do here but have lacked the support.

I can only hope that I had some kind of influence on the people I have taught and coached through the years. Without preaching my beliefs, I have tried to open minds to encompass more than just this town or county, more than this state or nation, more than just one set of beliefs. My hope, upon leaving what has been my home for five years, is that my former students and athletes will recognize that they are more than just an individual set on this earth to serve their individual needs and desires; they are here more than just to satisfy themselves or even their immediate surroundings. I want them to get out: get out from underneath their parents, whether they be good or bad, and become and individual; get out of their hometown to develop some sense of self sufficiency; get out of their comfort zone to learn more than what can be taught in books.

Now all I can do is wait to see what happens with them. My job here is done. On to the next.

Bee Adventure

Who knew I would love bees as much as I do? I finished Fruitless Fall last weekend. It was enlightening. These little creatures are so fascinating. There’s so much to learn from them and so many reason to love and respect them. We have hesitated telling our neighbors about our bees because we know so many of them will probably look at it with a closed mind, call us crazy, and find a reason for use to get rid of them. I know that some people do have serious allergic reactions to bees, but statistically, that’s a pretty small number. Many people think they do because the bites swell and burn and itch for days, but that’s the typical reaction. Bee stings suck, but you’ll live if that’s all that happens to you. How could anyone want to destroy such an amazing creature for the small pain it might cause?

I had my bee interaction this week on Tuesday. I taught my first day of summer school, did my grocery shopping, and went home to tend the bees. We hadn’t checked the hive since we moved it to the back of the yard, letting them settle and reorient themselves to the new location. When I opened the top cover, I saw that the inner cover was put on upside down, leaving too much space from the top if the hive to the cover, and I could see little mountains of comb inside the cover’s hole. I pried up the inner cover and smoked the bees a little, let it rest a moment, and then pulled the inner cover all the way off.

And what a mess. There was no rhyme or reason to the placement of the comb on top of the frames. It was just everywhere. Where was my bee organization??? It was even on the underside of the inner cover. And bees were all over it, storing nectar in the small pockets. I knew I had to scrape it off, but I knew that that was dangerous to the bees all around. I smoked them again, (I know that much smoke is not good for the honey, but I justified it by saying that it’s not honey we’ll be eating – I guess too bad for the bees) and a number of them went down into the frames, but many seemed to be engorging themselves on nectar or depositing it. I gently began to scrape the nearest comb off the frames, trying not to injury anyone. The hive tool began to be coated with nectar, and some of the bees panicked. I dropped the comb on a concrete slab next to the hive, in the hopes that the bees would be able to retrieve that nectar and bring it back to the appropriate place in the hive. Some of them buzzed pretty harshly as I dropped them on the stone, but many just tumbled on it, covered in nectar and probably about as high as could be.

After about ten minutes, I wasn’t even halfway done and the bees were upset at me. It was 94 degrees outside and I was wearing my khakis and polo from work under my bee suit. Sweat was dripping from the nose and down the back of my neck. I could feel my clothes plastered to me under the suit. But I knew that if I left this until next time, it would be even worse. The bees would be more protective, as it was, they weren’t swarming me too much, only three or four, and none had wasted her life trying to sting me, so I carried on.

After about forty minutes, I had the comb scraped off the frames, and I still needed to check some of them for brood and honey. I pulled the frame closest to the feeder, the one that only had the beginnings of comb the last time I check, about a week and half ago. On it, I noticed healthy, brood in the center, much of it already capped – we should have new bees soon from it. I could see the white larvae about six days old still curled in the comb. At the top of the frame were numbers of capped cells of honey (mostly the sugar water, I assume). Then I saw a very frustrating thing: mites. I only saw two, but I only looked at two frames. Who’s to say how many others are already in the capped brood cells?

Patrick and I discussed what to do—do we introduce chemicals to kill off the mites like so many profitable beekeepers do? Or do we do as many organic hobbyists do and let nature take its course and hope we get the strongest of our bees to survive? I know we definitely don’t want to introduce chemicals for any reason—we’re not in it for profit, so why be so destructive? But I also worry about all those bees being killed off by this little vermin. Hopefully, because I only saw a couple, it won’t be too bad. We already have a screened bottom board, which is supposed to be helpful in ridding a colony of mites or of preventing mites. And I’m going to try a very simple technique: powdered sugar. I read that you can dust them with powdered sugar ever week or so, and it forces the bees to clean each other more often. I have witnessed many of them cleaning each other pretty thoroughly when I’ve checked the hive before, but hopefully this will force them to pull mites off each other.

Anyway, I checked two good frames of brood, pollen, and capped honey. My smoker had gone out, and many of the bees had returned to the top of the frames near the entrance—the dance floor frames, most likely where the queen was. I decided I had disturbed them enough, so I shook some who were on the inner cover back into the hive, inverted it, and correctly placed it on the hive. Then I put the heavy outer cover back on and retreated. This time, only one followed me, and she didn’t follow that far. That evening, though, they called in the troops and set hundreds as guards at the entrance, afraid of another attack. Yet they continued their work yesterday and I’m sure will do the same today.

As much as I want some rain, I do need a clear day maybe Sunday or Monday to get back in and dust them with sugar and examine the rest of the frames. I’ll record more on that visit later.

As for DB, he’s not too fond of the bees. When they were beside the fence and shooting out in the middle of the yard, he didn’t like it at all—they were right at the place he used to cross the fence, and I’m guessing they didn’t like him very much, considering he’s small, black, and furry like a skunk—natural predator of bees. But now that they’re moved, he seems much happier to hang out in the back yard.