Another of the many fields that span my varied misadventures is the field of apiculture. What is apiculture, you may ask? It is the art of keeping a small matriarchy of female kamikaze pilots that feed their young regurgitated sugars. And they are very ungrateful.

Bees express their lack of gratitude in many ways. Sometimes, they die on you, despite careful efforts to encourage them to the contrary. Sometimes, they do well, and decide to forsake their nest for prospects further afield. Other times, they sting.

Bee stings are not fun. They swell, and hurt rather hard. But then, no risk of stings, no risk of honey, either. So for some strange reason, I began beekeeping in my teens. My Mom was brave enough to help in the endeavor. A group, mostly consisting of older men (with exceptions) would have a monthly potluck supper, followed by a lesson in the apicultural arts. This was always a lot of fun, with members both good humored and good natured in their willingness to help newbies. There were always new things to learn. The creation of royal jelly and its bifurcation of the female gender, the differing characteristics of different landraces of bees, or how many years a queen could live were some of the seemingly endless secrets bees held.

In addition, I also learned about the various plants bees drew upon as sources of nectar. These were, as often as not, weeds. Dandelions, it turns out, were a nutritious source of pollen. One beekeeper claimed to have made a crop entirely out of goldenrod blooms, and another claimed that the honey from kudzu was purple. Overgrown brambles took on an entirely different light when viewed as sources of sugar, and vegetal neglect was seen as a near virtue. If there aren’t any vegetables growing in the corner of the garden, why weed the corner of the garden?

And I think that small lesson from bees applies to a lot in life. Sometimes, the sweetest things come from neglecting to cut the wildflowers. Passing conversations, little detours. Things that seem to take you off course-but offer an interesting direction. After all, if it blooms, is it really a weed?