Tell'em about the honey

As the evenings draw in and the mornings carry that unmistakable chill, the end of the honey season has quietly arrived. For many, autumn is about conkers on the pavement or the smell of woodsmoke drifting across the fields, but for me this year it’s been about closing the lid on my hives after my very first season as a beekeeper.

I went into beekeeping with a healthy mix of excitement and caution. Like many people who take it up, I was told from the outset not to expect much honey in the first year, if any at all. The first season, the veterans warned, is mostly about learning and getting stung a few times. And on that subject, I got stung more than a few times actually, sometimes by the odd grumpy opportunist bee but mostly down to my own ill-fated growing confidence (which is a nicer way of saying cockiness) that I could strutt about without the bee suit on like BlackMountainHoney Laurence sometimes does on his YouTube videos. I quickly learnt not to.

It was also about figuring out what you don’t know. And, if you’re lucky, ending the season with bees still thriving and ready to face the winter ahead. Honey, if it came, would be a bonus.

What I didn’t expect was just how eventful, humbling, and ultimately rewarding this journey would be.

From one hive to two

Back in spring, I began with one hive and a very naive assumption that things would be relatively straightforward if I simply followed the textbook guidance. Beekeeping, as I quickly discovered, has a way of surprising you. In May, my bees swarmed, and then swarmed again, something most first-year keepers both dread and secretly expect. It’s a natural process, of course, but when you’re still figuring out the difference between capped brood and pollen stores, it felt like chaos.

Suddenly, I wasn’t the custodian of one hive anymore. I had two. Twice the bees, twice the inspections, and twice the sense of responsibility. What could have been overwhelming turned into one of the best learning opportunities I could have asked for. Swarming forced me to adapt, to pay closer attention, and to read the signs my bees were giving me rather than relying solely on theory. It was a baptism of fire, but one that left me feeling more connected to the colony and their rhythms.

The calm of the hive

One of the biggest surprises has been how meditative beekeeping can be. People often assume it’s all about the honey, the stings, and the heavy lifting, but for me, the real gift has been the stillness that comes with each inspection.

There’s a kind of ritual to it, suiting up, lighting the smoker, opening the hive frame by frame. In those moments, the outside world falls away. Emails, phone calls, deadlines, and all the noise of modern life are replaced by the hum of thousands of bees going about their ancient, instinctive work.

At first, I was nervous each time I lifted the crown board, worried about doing something wrong or clumsy. But as the weeks went by, I found myself slowing down, breathing easier, and actually enjoying the process. Beekeeping has taught me to be present in a way I hadn’t expected. It’s hard to rush when you’re surrounded by creatures who respond to your energy. Move with calm, and they stay calm. That’s a lesson I’ll carry well beyond the apiary.

Sweet success

And then came the honey. Despite all the early warnings, my bees gifted me with around five or six litres this year. To many seasoned keepers, that might not sound like much, but to me, it was joy in a jar.

Harvesting that first batch was a moment of pure joy. The colour, the aroma, the taste, it was unlike anything I’d ever bought from a shop. Not gonna lie, it was a bit on the sticky and messy side and I’ve learnt some lessons there as well. But knowing that it came from our own bees, from the wildflowers and hedgerows around Syntech, Kingsnorth, made it even more special.

Those who’ve tasted it have been as excited as I am, which only adds to the sense of achievement. More than the honey itself, it’s the symbolism that matters,  proof that the colony and I made it through our first season together, and that there’s so much more to come.

A community of keepers

Of course, I wouldn’t have got this far on my own. Beekeeping may be an individual pursuit in some ways, but it’s also built on an incredible sense of community. I’ve been especially grateful to the good people at the Dartford Beekeepers Association. I joined, did a beginners course, a pests, predators and other things that harm your bees course. Their collective wisdom and encouragement have guided me through many of those “What on earth is happening?” moments.

A special word of thanks also goes to Laurence at Black Mountain Honey, whose mentorship was also invaluable. The first amazing colony came from him but having his vast catalogue of training material, YouTube vlogs and tutorials and also someone patient and experienced at the other end of the phone makes all the difference.

Beekeeping is a craft that has been passed down for generations, and being welcomed into that tradition has been one of the most rewarding aspects of the journey.

Looking ahead

As I prepare the hives for winter, I’m filled not just with gratitude but with excitement for what comes next. There is so much still to learn, about queen rearing, swarm control, hive health, and honey extraction. Each season will bring new challenges, and with them, new opportunities to grow as a beekeeper.

What started as a curiosity has quickly become something deeper, a practice, a passion, and a source of connection to nature that I didn’t know I needed. I can’t wait to see how my colonies fare over the colder months, and to open the hives again next spring with fresh eyes and fresh determination.

For now, I’ll savour some spoonfuls of this season’s honey, raise a toast to my bees and fellow beekeepers, and thank everyone who has helped me get this far. Year one done, and what a year it’s been.

Story by Syntech Biofuel