Bees in My Bonnet: Where it All Began

A Beekeeper’s Ute and a Box of Honeycomb

People ask me where did my interest in bees begin. So, I thought it would be fun to tell the story.

Well, it was in 1998 when I met a new love in my life — my now husband, Rupert. It was on our first date that he graciously opened the passenger door to let me into his car — a “ute,” the beekeeper’s vehicle of choice and it was here that I was introduced to the true meaning of “honeycomb”.

I jumped in excitedly and found myself sitting next to a neat little brown cardboard box. Curiously, I asked what was in it, to which he replied, “honeycomb.” Not knowing what on earth he meant, I opened the box to find twelve containers of glistening golden chunks of honey, still in their original wax combs.

“What is this?” I asked quizzically.
“It’s honeycomb… I’m a beekeeper,” he said.

“A beekeeper? I’ve never met a beekeeper before!”
And so, the romance began.

Discovering the World of Honeybees

It wasn’t long after meeting my beekeeper that I found myself accompanying him into the Eucalypt forests to watch him gather honey and work his hives to maintain their peak performance. Like most people, I had no idea what this world of honeybees was all about. How often do we pick up fresh produce from the supermarket shelves without giving a second thought to the love and labour that brought it there? Primary producers work tirelessly behind the scenes, providing the beautiful bounty from the earth that we are so lucky to enjoy.

Now don’t get me wrong — while Rupert was in the apiary, I stayed safely inside the car. The thought of getting stung was as frightening as it would be for anyone! Sitting there with the windows wound up, I would peer out wide-eyed as Rupert suited up, lighting his smoker to gently divert the bees as he worked.

Every so often, he would come up to the car window and talk me through what he was doing. Often, he would bring a frame of solid honeycomb to the glass, where it shimmered like liquid gold in the sunlight. Bees would move across it in every direction, and Rupert would explain exactly what they were doing. It was an incredible sight.

Watching Rupert at Work

After a while, some of the worker bees would become quite agitated, clearly unimpressed at being opened and exposed to the sunlight. They would throw themselves at his veil, bouncing off in a dazed confusion. Occasionally, they would hurl themselves toward me at the car’s window and how I can only describe as violently bad-tempered behaviour.

Rupert would slowly walk away, muttering, “I really must re-queen these bees.”

Meanwhile, I found the whole thing both thrilling and slightly terrifying.

What amazed me most was how calm he remained. The high-pitched “zing” of bees swirling around his head didn’t seem to bother him at all. He would simply walk back into the apiary, place the frame carefully into the neatly painted white hive box, and move on to the next hive.

Straining my neck, I could just make out that he was using a metal tool (which I later learned was called a hive tool) to prise frames loose. He would lift them slowly, holding them up to the sunlight, turning them gently from side to side as he inspected them.

He moved through the apiary with ease — occasionally lifting a box slightly from the back to check its weight before moving on. Some hives he would open, others he would simply pass by. When he did open one, he would gently puff smoke into the entrance, remove the lid, and within moments the hive would be in pieces — and just as quickly, back together again.

I remember thinking… what on earth is he doing?

It was all so fascinating.

The End of the Day

Eventually, the work would come to an end, and I would be instructed to drive the ute slowly away while Rupert walked behind, waiting for the last of the bees to lose interest and return to the apiary.

There he would be — calm as ever — smoker gently puffing beside him, a small “bee box” of tools tucked under his arm. Handmade and practical, it held everything he needed to work the hives.

Once the bees had settled and I felt brave enough, I would wind down the window and bombard him with questions. He would laugh, lifting off his veil, and say,
“Maybe next time you should join me in the apiary in a bee suit.”

Joining the Beekeeper

Taking the next step

That “next time” came sooner than expected.

After several more visits observing from the car — windows wound firmly up — it all became too intriguing… and far too hot to sit there missing out on the action. One day, I told Rupert I thought I was ready to try on the bee suit.

He was over the moon.

Before I knew it, I had my own bright white bee suit, complete with veil, gloves and boots with long cuffs. Not the most fashionable outfit, I must admit, but Rupert was very proud as he laid it all out for me.

First Visit to the Apiary

Our first outing took us to Yanchep, where the bees were working the Parrot Bush. The hives had been painted green to camouflage them, as some had recently been vandalised — even shot at. It was a sobering reminder that this wasn’t just a romantic idea of beekeeping, but real work with real challenges.

As we approached the apiary, my nerves kicked in. I started firing off a hundred questions — what if the bees were angry? What should I do? What if I got stung?

Rupert, calm as ever, reassured me that I would be fine and that he would guide me through everything. His words helped… slightly.

Truthfully, I think stepping into an apiary for the first time is one of the more courageous things you can do. At that moment, I wondered if I was slightly mad. Did I really need to go this far to impress?

Stepping Into the Bees’ World

Dressed head to toe in my bee suit — feeling very much like the Michelin Man — I stepped into the apiary.

And instantly felt like I was being noticed.

Bees buzzed around my veil, pinging against it with force. The sound alone was overwhelming. I was convinced they were all focused on me.

“They’re all over me!” I cried.

Rupert calmly reassured me that I was fine and that they couldn’t harm me. The sound of their buzzing filled my head and stayed with me well into that night.

Trying to remain calm on the outside, I stood beside him while he explained the workings of the hive. Inside, I was still completely terrified.

Then he opened a hive.

The air seemed to explode with bees. Even more began circling my head, throwing themselves against my veil. And yet, through all of that, I could see him gently lifting a frame — pointing out worker bees, drone bees, and the intricate workings of the hive.

It was chaos… and beauty… all at once.

Becoming the Beekeeper’s Assistant

Over time I felt more confident to be the beekeeper’s assistant. We would visit our hives together and I would be the A-class pupil handing tools and equipment over like a dental nurse to the dentist. On one occasion I was even able to help remove a swarm of bees nestled in a pocket of a Banksia tree at the University of Western Australia’s Shenton Park Field Research Station.

My love for the bees was growing as my confidence grew as well.

And so, this is how my life in beekeeping began.