There's more to this story than just telling the bees, but this is regional as well.
I grew up on a family cattle farm. We had a tradition of telling the breeder bull about all the family goings on, so he could be comfortable knowing we had it all under control.
It was partially superstition and partially just so the bulls we used never got aggressive with family. You'd take him a bucket of corn or sweet feed and then tell him the bullshit that was going on.
Had a hard time parsing this, assumed "breeder" was the role of a human ranch hand, and you were telling them about family trivialities ("bull") so they felt included and soothed. Theory really fell apart around the time you started giving them corn and "sweet feed".
I don't understand the romanization of slums. It's not about poverty. Cleaning up after oneself doesn't require a lot of money, but it does require a certain sense of pride. Oakland would not be any less diverse if it didn't smell like piss (the article's words, not mine). Don't believe me? Visit a predominantly Asian trailer park (they exist). But somehow to a certain kind of young writer the culture of decay is so appealing.
Slums and cleanliness of society are absolutely about poverty. And to say otherwise is so utterly deranged I don't know where to begin..... The non slum places are kept clean not by pride, but by people being paid to maintain and clean it....
Like I said, it requires nothing more than picking up a broom. There are many places that are quite poor, and yet instead of graffiti you'll see a little old grandma planting flowers in front of her shack. And we should be supporting her, not the people who'd escape reality in a puddle of their own making. To say otherwise is so utterly deranged that I don't know where to begin.
I bought my hive from Khaled Almaghafi's shop on Telegraph, after capturing a swarm that parked in my orange tree. I wish it worked out better, as there wasn't anywhere in the yard with enough sun to keep a bee hive happy.
I grew up on a family cattle farm. We had a tradition of telling the breeder bull about all the family goings on, so he could be comfortable knowing we had it all under control.
It was partially superstition and partially just so the bulls we used never got aggressive with family. You'd take him a bucket of corn or sweet feed and then tell him the bullshit that was going on.