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Buzz Kill - Page 3 |
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Everyone agrees colony collapse disorder is an urgent matter. Last year, then-U.S. Agriculture Secretary Mike Johanns warned that CCD has the potential to cause $15 billion a year in lost crops and $75 billion in indirect losses. Some areas are already suffering. Italy lost half its honeybee population last year, causing more than $388 million in agricultural damage. Honeybees pollinate seven of Georgia’s top twenty agricultural products (cotton, peanuts, onions, blueberries, watermelons, squash, and peaches)—crops that account for $1.14 billion in value, according to the USDA. Animal products such as meat, eggs, and dairy—worth $3.67 billion to Georgia—would also be affected.
For many, it’s a case of “you don’t know what you’ve got till it’s gone,” but the Georgia General Assembly recognized the honeybee’s contributions way back in 1975 by declaring the honeybee the official state insect.
It’s an oft-cited fact that honeybees, which perform 80 percent of the nation’s crop pollination, are directly responsible for one out of every three bites of food we eat (and indirectly responsible for the other two). With too few pollinators, commercial beekeepers stretch existing bees to their limit, shipping more than 2 million colonies from state to state every year. Georgia rents out its bees to pollinate apples, blueberries, cucumbers, and watermelons. But it’s a circular dilemma: The stress of constant travel and change is often said to contribute to CCD and decreased bee populations. In 2005, for the first time in eighty-five years, extra honeybees were imported to pollinate U.S. crops. And as bee numbers continue to drop, existing bees must be moved more and more often. It’s estimated that by 2012, 90 percent of North America’s colonies will be needed to pollinate California’s almond crop alone. So if you think gas is expensive, just try buying a bag of nuts in a few years. Almonds are the new diamonds.
Just one more thing, honey.
Thinking of dipping those pricey almonds in honey? You’d better start looking for a second job. The price of honey in Georgia has risen from just 64 cents a pound in 1999 to $1.14 last year, according to the Georgia office of the National Agriculture Statistics Service. Of the 3.5 million pounds of the sweet stuff made by Georgia bees last year, you probably ate about 1.3 pounds, the average individual annual consumption in the U.S. And there are worse things to eat by the pound. Honey is high in antioxidants and also includes small amounts of B vitamins (naturally), vitamin C, iron, calcium, magnesium, potassium, and zinc. Research has shown that honey can increase calcium uptake in animals and is at least as effective as glucose for carb replacement during feats of endurance.
All that’s great, but what Atlantans really care about are allergies. We’ve got the worst allergy problems in the country. By ingesting local pollen via honey, you slowly develop immunity to it and ultimately can toss your Claritin for good, or so the theory goes. Will eating local, unfiltered honey really let you de-gunk your yellow windshield without a sniffle? It depends whom you ask.
Some experts are skeptical. “The pollens likely to be in honey are going to be the wrong kind of pollen, kind of allergy neutral,” says Delaplane, of UGA. “Now that’s not to say you don’t get airborne pollens in honey, but you only do so by accident. No more than you have airborne pollen on whatever you had for lunch today.”
Still, the idea is hard to discount when thousands of allergy sufferers swear by it. These believers shun grocery shelves packed with honey from massive beekeeping operations—more than 60 percent of the country’s honey comes from just 1,600 or so apiaries—and turn to local beekeepers for their remedy.
Jim Ovbey, one of an estimated 200 beekeepers in metro Atlanta, has hives to pollinate his bloom-laden yard in Marietta, but when you keep bees, honey happens. A hive with good nectar flow can yield 100 pounds in a single season. Ovbey has eight. He embraces the byproduct. When he opens the door to the shed behind his house, the sun shines through flawless jars of beribboned honey and glints off surrounding trophies. His honey, Ovbey’s Gold, has won numerous local awards, including several Best in Shows. The scene is so tranquil and picturesque, it banishes any remaining anxiety about collapsing walls and stinging frenzies.
Having your own shed of honey is appealing, but it’s the enjoyment of the hobby that hooks most backyard beekeepers. The green movement, public interest in colony collapse disorder, and the educational efforts of Metro Atlanta Beekeepers have helped create a surge in Atlanta’s beekeeping community during the last few years. Membership in MAB grew from thirty in 2006 to about 110 today.
Ovbey tries to explain the appeal. “People think, ‘Why do you do something where a bug’s gonna sting you?’ You do it because you like it. And because they’re so darned fascinating. I can get stung and thirty minutes later, I’m on another mission. Once a beekeeper, in your heart you’re probably always a beekeeper. It is our obligation to take care of those little creatures—even if they do sting us.”
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