On Monks, Bees and Almonds

Father Innocent
St. John Monastery, Manton, CA

Spring has arrived early in Northern California, and the monks have had to scramble to get their bees ready for the annual trip to the almond orchards. “Brother Ioann, can you meet tomorrow morning at 3:30 for a bee trip?” Monk Innocent asked, clearly pushing the limits of monastic obedience. “As long as I don’t get stung,” came the stout-hearted reply. Faithful to the plan, following sufficient caffeination, the brothers worked by flashlight to load and stack 28 beehives—each weighing around a hundred pounds and, of course, full of thousands of stinging insects. Although the bees may not appreciate the early morning jostle and sudden deportation to lands unknown, it is a crucial link in the ancient dance of bees and flowers that helps the monks support themselves and contributes to the great cause of making thousands of tons of the single most valuable agricultural commodity in California.

Almonds are commonplace in the grocery store providing us with a healthy (and Lenten!) snack to munch on, but few people realize where they come from and how honey bees are essential to produce them. The almond tree produces an apricot-like fruit. The fruit is not eaten, but kernel of the pit is the edible part—the tear drop-shaped nut that we know and love. But before the tree can “set fruit” the all-essential transfer of pollen from flower to flower must take place. In days gone by, when almond acreage was small and wild bee populations were high, the whole process would happen naturally. In today’s era of mechanized, factory-like agriculture, plantings have increased exponentially. The trees are densely planted for maximum production. In 2014, according to the Almond Board, fields planted in almonds topped out at 810,000 acres. Production of California almonds for 2013 was 1.88 billion pounds. Worldwide demand for almonds has remained strong. Despite the high production in recent years, farmers can expect to fetch $2 a pound wholesale from the field for their product. In many places in the Central Valley in late February, one can gaze from a hill to see a snow-like blanket of pinkish-white blossoms spread from horizon to horizon. Each flower demands pollination, but who can step up to such a monumental task? Enter the motley band of beekeepers.

For the past three years, the monks of St. John Monastery in Manton, California have taken their hives to the orchards around Orland (a distance of about 30 miles). Monastics of modern times often need to be creative in developing ways to support themselves. Rather than working secular jobs away “in the city” the brothers strive to fulfill the commandment to “live quietly, to mind your own affairs, and to work with your hands” (1 Thes. 4:11). The wilderness that surrounds the monastery has and abundance of flowers, and this lends itself to beekeeping. When the pink bells of the Manzanita shrub appear in March and April, the bees busily gather the nectar and pollen to raise their brood. In June and July, the blackberries and the thistles bloom, holding promise for a honey crop. In late August and September of some years, the bees can store up the dark, sticky and strong-flavored Cedar honey, made from the sap of the Incense cedar trees that grow in abundance in the foothills. From November through January, the bees are medicated and fed sugar water and protein patties to increase their population for the annual trek to the almond orchards. With bee rental fees reaching $170 a hive this year, the 50 hives the monastery manages to prepare for the annual pollination event have brought a much-needed and steady source of income for the winter months.

Beekeeping and Orthodox monasticism have a long, mutually beneficial relationship.   Monks in Russia traditionally kept bees in a bee gum—a sawed-off section of a hollowed-out log. The industrious inhabitants of the bee gum would fill it with honeycomb over the course of a summer. The bees were then driven off or killed with poisonous smoke, allowing the monks to harvest the honey and wax. The honey would then be sold and the beeswax retained as the all-important ingredient for the production of candles. As more and more churches were established, more candles were required for use in worship. Beekeeping and the production and sale of candles became a means for monasteries to support themselves. The monks of St. John also make candles, but purchase most of their beeswax from outside suppliers rather than produce it themselves. It would require many thousands of beehives to generate enough wax to satisfy the 5 or 6 tons needed annually to fill candle orders.

Grimy, tired, and covered with mud from tromping through a wet orchard, the brothers returned home, having left their buzzing friends to do their work amongst the budding trees. “Get stung?” Father Innocent asks Brother Ioann as he carefully removes his beesuit plus layers of duct tape around his ankles and wrists. “Nope. And you?” “Not too bad. Only about a dozen times this trip. Invigorating.” Father Innocent favors wearing light protection—a more hands-on approach to beekeeping. It keeps one cool, but, admittedly, it has its disadvantages. Thus another beekeeping year begins for the monks, the bees perform their annual miracle of pollination, and the cycle of flowers, bees, almonds, and honey goes on.