Bee Runner

A friend used to joke to me that we’re like a bunch of prostitutes. We go to a farmer and negotiate for the lowest price possible. He doesn’t want to be seen with us. He doesn’t want to talk about us. We come in and do our work at night, under the cover of darkness, and when you’re done, they want you out. They don’t want their workers stung, and as soon as those crops are pollinated and start fruiting, it’s time to get out of there quick. Jury Hayes, the apiarist for Florida, calls us the ‘ugly stepchild of agriculture.’

David Hackenberg, in a conversation with Open Source, 6/19/07

Monday’s show introduced us to the nomadic lives of bee runners: the people who cart millions of honeybee colonies from crop to crop across the country, pollinating $15 billion worth of the nation’s food, or every third bite you take. I spoke with David Hackenberg, a Pennsylvania apiarist and early spokesman for colony collapse, about the history of the bee running industry, and his own thoughts on a life of driving with bees in flatbed trucks. For the past 40 years or so, he’s crisscrossed the nation, from Pennsylvania to Florida, Maine to California, with thousands upon thousands of honeybees. He says that the future is only getting harder for those left in the industry, and he’s noticing fewer and fewer young bee runners joining the ranks.

The need [for bee running] today has to do with our fruit and vegetable ‘monoculture’, in which, for instance, Maine becomes the blueberry producer for the entire country. Same with almonds in California. 30 years ago a large scale Maine blueberry grower rented 1,000 hives, today they rent 100,000.

David Hackenberg, in a conversation with Open Source, 6/19/07

There’s a lot of labor involved, and the costs are high. This year saw 50 to 100% increases in the price for bees. And while the local bees are disappearing, the crops are getting bigger. You don’t get good bees just by looking at them. You can’t just move the bees and let them forage in the field. It’s not about breeding bees, but feeding and conditioning them. So having a great product takes a lot of know-how and work. You run the bees all year, through the seasons. [And there’s no time off] for you or the bees, you drive to Maine in the summer while the blueberries are ripe, and to Florida for the winter.

David Hackenberg, in a conversation with Open Source, 6/19/07

I don’t want to be milking cows, never did. I’m running bees. I get to see three springs a year: one in Florida, one in Pennsylvania, and one in Maine. It’s the most beautiful way to see the country. We work at night, alone in the field with the bees, unloading the trucks under the stars. Out there, it’s very relaxing. You see other beekeepers on the road, a few times a week, and everyone talks. Everyone’s got the same set of problems. I guess we’re just a bunch of crazy people out here running around with bees.

David Hackenberg, in a conversation with Open Source, 6/19/07