This is my only 7th year of beekeeping in Shawnee, OK, yet I have not lost
a single colony to either mites by treating my eight colonies--mostly
Russians/Italians--only once in the fall.  What works for me, I realize,
may not work for everyone; however, I refuse to put the honey on my table
that came from the colonies, treated, not once but twice a year, whether
the beekeeper had followed the label to the letter or not:

1) Given the level of infestation of both mites and given the idiosyncratic
disposition of unknown individual beekeepers, one can, it appears, never
completely wipe out mites.

2) Last year I collected two strong feral colonies, which, the property
owners attest, had been there many a year despite the mites.  Isolated
anecdotes?  Of course.  But the fact that they managed themselves
without "my bright idea" makes me wonder and ponder the scheme of things in
the universe.

3) I have no desire to contribute another red cent to the pharmaceutical
companies that seem to have judiciously MONOPOLIZED the market thanks to
most of us: the current price for these chemicals is jaw-dropping.  (I
don't think they are my in-laws, either.)

4) The fine line between over-medicating and not doing it enough seems to
depend on individual ontological circumstance.  For instance, I refuse to
terramycin my bees for the simple dread of the ubiquitous AFB spores.  Let
them come when they come:  I will burn them to hell.  (Would you take AZT,
while being monogamous, simply because of your fear of getting AIDS and
simply because they say it is an excellent drug?)

5) Hypochondriacs may want to medicate their bees twice proactively
propelled by their perfectionist instinct.  More power to them!  Such
aggressive treatment will aggravate human negligence, contributing to
resistance: I see three survivors stagger out of the hive, having
persevered the soup of torture, heading to my apiary.  Almost all bee
problems, according to my limited observation, did not come from the bees
themselves; indeed “No good deed should go unpunished.”  Think about AHB,
for example.

6) Given the spongy nature of the wax, I seriously doubt that a beekeeper
will completely remove the chemical residues in and on it, even if he/she
follows the direction with religious vigor.  How about the microscopic
residues on the wood?

7) Are we assisting the bees, like a midwife, to channel their inherent
nature or are we imposing our anthropomorphic iron will on the listener
that cannot hear?  Do you suppose that the bees will disappear if we fail
to medicate when, in fact, they have survived eons on their own, thank you
very much, before the advent of human gods?

Yesterday, we had the second day in the 70’s F in January, a crazy weather
pattern which, I pray, we all-knowing humans have not contributed to: the
second week of January is supposed to be the coldest of the winter in
Oklahoma!  My bees flew in all eight directions, third time this winter.
When I opened up the hives, the girls boiled out as if to say, “Hello
there!  We haven’t smelled you for a while.”  Many of them have yet to
touch the second deep, full of last year’s honey.  And I thought out
loud, “Hmmm. . . . I have been a good servant, a born monk in the monastery
of my apiary.”  And I am resolved to remind myself that I am their maid, an
indentured servant, and never their Master.

Yoon Sik Kim, Ph.D.
(HUMDINGER)
Chair/Humanities Division
St.Gregory’s University
1900 West MacArthur
Shawnee, OK 74804
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