Hello! Welcome to this section of my Substack all about interactions in nature. Here I’ll share about a particular interaction I have had, and the myth and folklore surrounding that aspect of nature. These articles span memoir, spirituality and science. Feel free to share your own interactions in the comments, or on Saturdays in the chat where we share our best of the week. Anna xx
It’s 2009. The top selling single is Poker Face by Lady Gaga. In January of that year everyone is already singing it constantly, on loop in their head or on the dance floors of the dark basement clubs in Edinburgh, where I live at the time.
I, however, am not in a basement club, nor am I in Edinburgh. It is late January and I am off on field work. I am sat in the remnants of a landslide, that has long since fallen, but as the ground is unstable, I have become caught in it. I slid down with such force that I almost catapulted into the ravine below. Luckily for me I am holding the tools of the trade, and manage to catch hold of a rooted tree to save myself. The other scientists and I joke at the close call and as we sit looking over the rainforest below, the Andes do not seem like such a terrible place to be.
Before coming here I had been plagued with self doubt, imposter syndrome, that now, working on such a grandiose project, I was not welcome here. I would be found out.
I was just a girl from the south coast, a small fishing town, nothing more, nothing less. Who was I to be stood here in the Andes. It felt like Jurassic Park. Just minus the dinosaurs.
And as we continue our walk, I am keen to see the spectacled bear that has been talked of in these ranges. Instead however, I am greeted by what can only be described as an elaborate version of the honey bee, perhaps even a wasp, settling itself down on my hand for a feast with its huge stinger. Now this for anyone, would not be a welcome sight, but for someone like me, with a history of allergic reactions to stings, seeing this, knowing we were miles from any form of help was a cause for alarm. With no truck, no phone signal, just one slightly dodgy satellite phone for emergencies. I knew I was in trouble.
Now in hindsight, perhaps travelling to the Amazon rainforest was not the most sensible decision for someone so prone to allergic reactions. Add in to the mix, that I am the most supremely clumsy person you will ever meet, it was perhaps an unsmart decision. But it was a gutsy one.
To add to this, bees, are my family nemesis. It is not kryptonite, nor is it something super cool like a panther or tiger, it is the bee. My great grandmother died after being stung in the throat. She had been eating a jam sandwich in which a bee had resided. My father, had been stung on the tongue, just while walking in the street, minutes from suffocation, injected at just the right time. And me? Having been stung as a child, and then swarmed, yes, swarmed in my flat in London. I was starting to think that this was maybe no longer a coincidence. The bees themselves were looking for a place to stay. They flew down my chimney, and settled in the bathroom when they could not find a way out, covering the white tiled floor, so all I could see was black and yellow.
So perhaps some may say, that day in 2009, was fate calling. My Spanish was weak, but I just made out “mira el auga” from my colleague meaning look at the water. As the waterfall cascaded down the mountains into the gorge below. I thought, this guy thinks I’m going to die. But as you can see I did not, by some miraculous combination of too many anti histamines, and desperate efforts to keep my heart rate low, it settled itself enough for us to make the climb back to our huts.
You may think that I have a severe dislike of bees because of this. But it is the opposite. I have noticed that these bees arrive, just at the time when courage is needed.
Bees are found in almost all mythology, with some cultures having gods dedicated to bees alone (think Aristaeus, the Greek god of bee-keeping). The golden thread linking all folklore on bees is an agreement that they are magically imbued. Their honey a divine gift. In Europe, we see them as prophets, messengers from the Gods. In some cultures, they believed that the bees were the form the soul took as it left the body in death. The bee it seems is woven into our celestial nature, the cycles of both life and death. The San people from the Kalahari desert highlight the bee as the giver of life. All life. Their story tells of a mantis close to death. The bee carried this mantis across the river, laying it down on a floating flower. Exhausted, the bee planted a seed in the mantis’ body just as it died. That seed, they say, grew into the first human.
As Scientists we know that without bees, we are almost certainly goners. So whatever we may believe, we know the fate of the bee is tied to our own.
Just a few months ago, the bee appeared again. This time, on the washing line, hanging on a pair of pyjamas. A queen bee. She was exhausted. Dad found her first, calling to me in earnest. Despite being terrified of her capacity to render us both speechless, we were determined to save her. What is it with this family and bloody bees Dad exclaimed. There was an excitement in his tone, not a trace of annoyance. His eyes glittered as we danced around on the grass, hopping up and down not sure of what to do.
Two days before we had found out that Dad had relapsed. I had been trying hard to hide my distress from him. In a few short months the leukaemia had returned. The treatment had not worked. We were in the midst of deciding whether we were to submit to palliative care or to take a risk with a stem cell transplant, knowing that there was a chance it could save him but also a chance it could kill him too.
We of course saved her, our messenger from the Gods, the honey bee, with a saucer of honey, and a gentle lift from the washing line. Transferring her into the undergrowth where she could rest and recover. Within hours she was gone
The next day we said yes to the stem cell.
If you would like to know more about me and dad and our spirit animal, the bee. You can read more in my other Substack, Letters to my Father.
On that mountain side in the Peruvian Andes, I also needed courage. I was putting on an act, my very own Poker Face, to those around me. I wasn’t ready yet, I was not emotionally mature enough to have that responsibility, to bring forth Science of such great importance. 16 years later I have returned to the research I love. Imposter syndrome still thrives, you come to learn that it always will, but now I am excited. Ready for all that this life will bring me. Dad will have his stem cell transplant this summer. And as I exist in a blissful chaos, the bees remind me that I have courage and with that I know all will be well.
I am writing this essay as part of the 24 essays club (this is number 8) with the wonderful Claire Venus you can read more about the essay club below.