arrival of the bees

Each year, New York City is swarmed by incoming honeybees — and their new keepers.

It is rare to see Columbus Circle in a state that is anything but busy, but on the chillier-than-usual morning in late April, just after 6:00, the buzzing of the city center was far more literal than usual: it was that of tens of thousands of honeybees, which were being delivered to over 200 beekeepers in what marked the largest single gathering of bees in the history of New York City. 

The annual bee delivery, which arrives courtesy of the NYC Beekeepers’ Association every spring, marks the start of a new season of beekeeping. 

“In the past, the bees have been delivered to the farmers’ market in Union Square,” said Molly Connolly, a graphic designer and beekeeper in her mid-30s who is in her fifth year of working with the NYC Beekeepers’ Association. “But there are just so many bees and too many people around. So, we’re going to give this a shot.”

While there are those veteran apiarists (a fancy term for beekeepers) whose packages of bees mainly serve to replenish or expand their already-existing colonies, there are also those for whom this is the beginning of an exciting new journey. Such is the case for Carolina Zuniga-Aisa, 33, and Stacey Vasquez, 40, a pair of friends who have been eagerly anticipating the arrival of their bees since ordering them back in the fall. 

“We had all of our equipment and we actually ordered colonies of bees before even figuring out where we were going to have our hives,” said Vasquez before the delivery as she brushed her hot pink-tipped bangs out of her eyes. “We knew we’d have until March or so to figure it out, but you have to order your bees before Christmas or all of the suppliers run out. So we did it, and we were just like, ‘it’s going to work out somehow.’”

Thankfully for the pair, who met and worked together during an 8-month, bi-weekly beekeeping apprenticeship program at the Brooklyn Grange, it did. Things fell into place when a neighbor and good friend of Zuniga-Aisa put them in contact with someone who helped them secure a location for their hives on Governor’s Island.

“We’ve tilled the area, we’re going to do planting and gardening, the hives are up and painted; the home is ready,” said Zuniga-Aisa, as she adjusted her black beanie. And with the location all set, this bee arrival, which comes to Zuniga-Aisa and Vasquez’s all the way from Georgia, is the last piece of the puzzle. 

A small truck pulls up to the curb on the northeast side of Columbus Circle, and a telling mural of a honeybee-studded park against a city silhouette on the truck’s side, along with the logo reading “Andrew’s Honey” — the NYC Beekeepers’ Association is the brainchild of the esteemed beekeeper Andrew Cote — instantly prompts the organized queuing of eager beekeepers ready to pickup their new hives. 

Urban beekeeping has flourished in New York since it was legalized back in 2010, with hives mushrooming in city parks, backyards, school yards, and skyscraper rooftops alike. But even more diverse than the locations of the hives across New York are the expert and novice beekeepers manning them, each of whom comes to the hobby from a distinctly unique place. And though there is little variation in the process of raising bees, the range of objectives has made the art of beekeeping entirely customizable. 

Take Margot Dorn, for example. The 46-year-old middle school teacher was drawn to beekeeping through a lifelong interest in nature. And not only was Dorn inspired enough to start raising her own bees in New York, but she actually decided to start an internship program for her students called B’ville, where she mentors a new generation of beekeepers.

“The first year was pretty hard,” she admits before confirming that she has since learned from her setbacks and successes alike, and has slowly worked her way up to managing a grand total of seven hives throughout Brooklyn. “I have four in Bed-Stuy and three in Brownsville,” she said, noting that she’s become something of a hoarder when it comes to the bees. “I’m kind of like a cat lady, but with bees.”

Meanwhile, David Garcelon, another NYC beekeeper, had experience working with bees in Toronto before moving to New York, and was drawn to beekeeping for a different purpose: culinary arts. As the head chef at the Waldorf-Astoria, Garcelon’s 20th-story rooftop beekeeping operation, which sits atop the prestigious hotel, can house anywhere from 5,000 to 60,000 bees per hive at any given time depending on the season. 

“We use the honey in all kinds of things,” said Garcelon, affirming that the honey he and his team harvest from the Waldorf-Astoria hives is just as tasty in savory dishes as it is sweet ones. “My favorite thing is the honey ice cream we make. Empire Brewery does a beer for us every year, as well. We give them about 60 lbs. of honey” — the six hives produce about 400 lbs. of honey together, on average — “and they make this beer for us that we feature in the fall here in our restaurant, Peacock Alley. It’s called Waldorf Buzz. We’re working on a whiskey now, too, that we’re hoping to launch this summer.”

Garcelon goes on to add that the honey is delicious when served with cheese — “it pairs exceptionally well with blue cheese, parmesan, and aged gouda,” he said — and that it’s used as an ingredient in everything from salad dressings, to soups, to chicken. 

“It’s a fascinating thing,” said Garcelon about beekeeping. “It’s kind of like cooking; you never stop learning about it.”

For Vasquez and Zuniga-Aisa, the draws to beekeeping were different still. Vasquez’s draw to the hobby was rooted largely — almost purely — in intrigue and curiosity. 

“I’d been interested in beekeeping for a while, and my fiancé signed me up for a rooftop beekeeping class at Third Ward and got me a membership,” said Vasquez. “Then the school closed. I was like, ‘No! Where in New York City am I going to be able to do this now?’ That’s when I randomly met this woman from Brooklyn Grange at a friend’s potluck dinner and she told me about their beekeeping course. I immediately went for it.”

For Zuniga-Aisa, the interest in beekeeping came more so in the form of an environmental call to action. 

“My mom came to me one day and was like, ‘Do you know bees are dying?’” said Zuniga-Aisa, noting that her at-the-time newly-retired mother had become an expert on uncovering random tidbits like this in her free time. “She was talking to me about it like it’s this huge crisis, and at first I was a little dismissive, like ‘What are you talking about?’ But then I started doing research and I was like, ‘Wait, I’ve gotta do something about this!’

A few weeks later, Zuniga-Aisa found a Brooklyn Grange beekeeping class — the same one Vasquez had learned about through her friend of a friend — and decided to go for it, too. “I asked my mom if she wanted to do it together and she was like, ‘No, I’m too busy, but you do it and teach me.’” Zuniga-Aisa laughed. “So I did. And I was totally conquering my fear, by the way. I was terrified of bees before this!”

When their turn comes in line, Vasquez and Zuniga-Aisa take their packages of bees — three in total, each housing about 10,000 bees — and make their way back to Zuniga-Aisa’s car, where they gently secure the hives in the trunk. 

Next stop, Governor’s Island. 

Zuniga-Aisa drives to the Staten Island Ferry Terminal at 10 South Street, where the duo will catch the 8 a.m. ferry to the island and — finally! — get down to business installing their hives. 

“There are 30,000 bees in the trunk of the car right now!” Zuniga-Aisa says, her voice a mixture of excited and in a state of disbelief. 

“30,003,” Vasquez corrects her. “Because of the queens.”

As Zuniga-Aisa drives her car onto the ferry, any mention of the bees ceases, since the transport of the buzzing passengers hasn’t exactly been approved. (“It hasn’t not been approved,” either, Zuniga-Aisa reassures us.) 

Minutes later, the ferry docks at Governor’s Island, and Zuniga-Aisa drives another couple of minutes before stopping her car amidst piles of composted soil, a chicken coop, and a mini greenhouse. The site is that of Earth Matters, an organization dedicated to reducing organic waste, a mission that gave rise to the Compost Learning Center on Governor’s Island in an effort to make the area a zero-waste space. It’s in partnership with Earth Matters that Vasquez and Zuniga-Aisa secured their hive location on the island, and a single look at the site instantly affirms that the bees will be a welcome addition to the landscape.

Vasquez and Zuniga-Aisa head to the back of the parked car and open the trunk, careful to approach it slowly in case the bees are a little restless after the ride. They reach in and gently remove the bees, ready to carry them to the site. 

“We call ourselves the Island Bee Project,” says Zuniga-Aisa, explaining that in partnering up with Earth Matter to set up their hives, she and Vasquez had to write up a formal proposal, complete with an official name, to get approved for the space. “It’s cool because we want to work to educate the volunteers, so that’s kind of like our giveback to the farm. Part education, part bee enthusiasts.”

As they approach their hives, Zuniga-Aisa’s previous account of the work that has gone into preparing the space is self-evident. While neighboring patches of land lay in a state of disarray, with overgrown weeds and vines, the site of the ladies’ hives is marked by a budding garden, a large plastic bin to secure all of the beekeeping essentials, and the colorfully-decorated hives; Zuniga-Aisa’s is adorned with images of mushrooms, the moon, and stars while Vasquez’s features a portrait of David Bowie.

“My daughter painted my beehives,” says Vasquez, though she admits that that’s as close as the 18-year-old has been willing to get to the project as of yet. “She’s an artist, so it was really cool, but she’s so afraid of insects. I’m trying to get her involved with it on a different level, then someday I can hopefully get her in a suit.”

On that note, the two suit up. Zuniga-Aisa sports just the top of a white beekeeper’s suit and Vasquez slips into a light pink full body suit that she was given by her mother. Geared up and ready to go, they start opening up their hives, one at a time to put the bees in their new homes. The process starts by securing the queen in the hive, which is done carefully and delicately. From there, all finesse is lost as Zuniga-Aisa and Vasquez shake the package of 10,000 bees rigorously to release them into the hive. A cloud of bees forms before the majority begin to collect at their hive. 

Zuniga-Aisa finishes up her installation before shifting her attention to helping Vasquez set up her hive. Performing the task, the two appear to be entirely in their element. And yet, they will be the first to say that getting to this point has taken a lot of mistakes, and will continue to consist of more going forward. But the learning process has been one that they have relished, both in the sense of what they’ve learned about beekeeping, and themselves. 

“I think I’ve proven to myself that I can get passed fear barriers,” says Zuniga-Aisa. “My anxiety used to be through the roof, and working with bees, I’ve learned to take it back a notch; to be in the moment. It’s really like a therapy for me.”

Meanwhile, Vasquez credits beekeeping with helping her let go of some of the superficial aspects of her personality that she says come as natural byproducts of growing up in the city. 

It is largely these changes that they’ve seen in themselves that have made Vasquez and Zuniga-Aisa want to grow their beekeeping venture into a project meant to introduce beekeeping to others, starting with those close to home; Vasquez with her daughter, and Zuniga-Aisa, with her mother. She’s also hoping to get her 15-year-old brother hooked while she’s at it. 

“He’s kind of excited for a bee sting,” she laughs. “He’s like, ‘I’ve never been stung by a bee, I should know by now how it feels,’ and I’m like, ‘Yeah, we’re going to make this happen, and we’re going to create a good bond from it.’ I’ll get stung, too. Why not? It’s kind of like getting tattoos.”

Of course, there’s plenty of time for that. For now, Vasquez and Zuniga-Aisa are living in the present moment, as they’ve learned from their bees. And rightly so — it’s a moment that’s been long in the making.