For urban beekeepers in New York City, the sweetest time of the year is here once again

NEW YORK CITY (SBG) — On a Friday morning in July of 1999, then-Mayor Rudy Giuliani launched into an impassioned tirade during his weekly radio show that would not soon be forgotten. The impetus for Giuliani's fervent rant came from a caller's frustrations regarding an amendment that had been made to the New York City Health Code just shy of a month prior. "I think you have totally and absolutely misinterpreted the law," Giuliani told the caller, "because there's something deranged about you."

"No, there isn't, sir," David in Oceanside, N.Y. asserted.

Giuliani allowed the tumultuous argument to continue only for a moment longer before cutting the line to silence his opponent. Without any further chance of interruptions, Giuliani continued to ridicule David's mental state and urged him to seek the assistance of a psychologist or a psychiatrist. "There is something really, really, very sad about you. You need help. You need somebody to help you," said Giuliani, justifying his slinging of insults as a form of much-needed tough love.

The topic at the center of this heated political debate between Giuliani and the caller?

Ferrets.

Specifically, whether ferrets should be allowed as pets in New York City. As executive president of New York Ferret's Rights Advocacy,David Guthartz firmly believed that these beloved companions were not, as the Health Code described them in Article 161, wild animals that are "naturally inclined to do harm and capable of inflicting harm upon human beings," and should not have been included on the newly-formed list of over 150 species fitting such a description. On the opposite end of the spectrum, Giuliani vehemently stood by theNew York City Board of Health's unanimous decision to ban ferrets as pets, given their "unpredictable behavior" and their propensity for "vicious, unprovoked attacks."

As ferrets commanded the spotlight through both the persistence of their advocates and the help of Giuliani's legendary diatribe, the other animals that the city had simultaneously outlawed as pets received far less attention. Certainly, some, like elephants, hippopotamuses, and whales would have been thoroughly impractical or downright impossible to keep in a New York City apartment (though one cab driver did manage to raise a tiger for two years in a public housing complex in Harlem shortly after the ban).

But also included in Section 161.01 was a species, like ferrets, thought by its supporters to be entirely undeserving of the label that the Department of Health and Mental Hygiene had slapped onto it.

That species was Apis mellifera, or the European honey bee.

Walking down any tree-lined street in New York City in early June, you're likely to breathe in the intoxicating scent of linden trees in bloom, their pale-yellow flowers emanating a sweeping aroma reminiscent of honeysuckle and connected in the minds of many to the start of summer in the city. These hardy trees are especially well-suited to the harsh conditions of a city and have thus been a popular choice for adding greenery along concrete sidewalks. Currently, a map of the street trees in New York City shows nearly 30,000 littleleaf lindens across the five boroughs.

Several stories above the linden trees lining the streets of Ridgewood, beekeeper Tom Wilk takes care of five hives on the roof of the Greater Ridgewood Youth Council.

The honey that I make ... the honey that the bees make, that I steal," he corrected himself, "is sold as our Zip Code Local Honey, with the zip code of11385 for Ridgewood, New York.

Those curious to try honey from another zip code, there are plenty of options available in his online store from nearby neighborhoods. The Ridgewood location is just one of six apiaries that Wilk, head beekeeper at Wilk Apiary, operates in the borough. He also sells hyper-local honey from his apiaries in Long Island and upstate New York.

Ask Wilk about New York City honey, and he'll assure you that it's superior in taste to honey from agricultural areas, something that may surprise all those who don't associate the city with honey bees. "In the city, you’re not putting chemicals in your backyard," he said. "My wife kills the weeds with vinegar. She doesn’t kill the weeds with Roundup. A farmer uses Roundup."

For Wilk and other beekeepers in New York City, the pleasant scent of the linden trees represents not only the promise of sunny skies and sweltering heat ahead but also the start of a particularly valuable timeframe for the production of honey. "Late June to early July is the best honey flow, we call it. When the linden trees bloom, that’s probably the best amount of nectar that the bees will get all year," said Wilk.

From 1999 until 2010, it would have been illegal for Wilk to harbor honey bees on the roof of theGreater Ridgewood Youth Council, or elsewhere in the city.

"There was an underground movement, of course, keeping bees on roofs. What they would do is they would make the beehives look like chimneys or air conditioning units, so the police wouldn’t notice them when they were flying over on a helicopter,"said Wilk, who started beekeeping post-legalization in 2012 and thus has only secondhand knowledge of the years prior.

The man who first trained Wilk, however, was among those outlaw beekeepers who remained on rooftops and peddled contraband honey in the city during what he now refers to as "the bitter years."

To hear Andrew Coté talk about bees, it's no wonder that the fourth-generation beekeeper was undeterred by the 1999 legislation that placed bees in the company of grizzly bears, lions, and crocodiles, and the accompanying threat of being fined for violating the ban. Though he acknowledges that the relationship is very much one-sided,Coté speaks of his bees as if they are his closest confidants. His tone is a mix of awe and fascination— even after an entire lifetime of being around the bees,Coté's passion for the flying insects hasn't faded. And the hint of formality present in the way Coté often refers to "the bees" when others might choose to simply say "bees" suggests the utmost level of respect.

Coté is of the opinion that bees were far from the city's main target inArticle 161, and Giuliani's ferret fixation gives credibility to this belief. "I don’t think anyone targeted bees," Coté said. "Honey bees just got caught in that net.But nobody was coming after us. It was not a big deal."

While subsequent attempts to legalize ferrets have been unsuccessful to date, bee enthusiasts in New York City were able to, through petitions, public hearings, and a Beekeepers Ball held by the nonprofit organization Just Food, convince the Department of Health and Mental Hygiene to overturn the ban on bees in 2010.

Ever since, honey bees have blossomed in the city. But despite the proliferation of hives, the average resident or visiting tourist walking down the sidewalk has remained perfectly unaware of the colonies buzzing high above their heads on rooftops or tucked away in community gardens, an indication that the ban on bees for fear of public safety was unwarranted.

The only time that bees really cause much of a stir in New York City is when they swarm. Swarming refers to a natural process in which a large group of bees will split off from their home hive to start a new colony elsewhere, often prompted by overcrowding in the original hive. While scout bees search for an appropriate new home, the others will wait in a large cluster that doesn't exactly put New Yorkers at ease, particularly when that cluster is in a densely populated and highly visible area, like on the umbrella of a hot dog stand in Times Square.

As the temperature rises, the colonies grow faster, and the potential for swarming is greater. Just this week, a crowd gathered to watch Coté and Detective Daniel Higgins, one of New York Police Department's official beekeepers, vacuum up a swarm that had settled onto a stoplight in Manhattan; once vacuumed, the bees were relocated. Another swarm made itself comfortable on a van belonging to the City of New York, ignoring the signage declaring that the van was "for official use only."

Swarms in and of themselves are not bad," said Coté, "but I think that they create a panic, and they make people very uncomfortable at the least, so it’s not fantastic PR for urban beekeeping.

Wilk, who was afraid of insects as a kid and saw beekeeping as a way of conquering that fear, understands why swarms cause terror in the city. "There’s bees flying all around. I can understand people being a little nervous," he said, "but believe it or not, those bees are the calmest they ever will be because they’re not protecting a home at that point."

Even outside of a swarm situation, public perception oftentimes paints honey bees as being far more dangerous and eager to sting than they actually are. As Wilk examined his hives in Ridgewood, the bees hardly paid him any attention at all beyond occasionally bouncing off of his veil. "When I get stung, it’s usually because I did something dumb," he said.

Like Wilk, Coté maintains that honey bees are far more calm and relaxed than one might assume. When handling bees, Coté is only afraid of bees when it's prudent to be afraid, meaning in any specific circumstances where there may be potential for injury to himself or to others. His five-year-old son, who, in keeping with the family tradition, has developed a passion for bees by working alongside Coté, doesn't quite share this sentiment. "I'm not afraid of bees at all," he proudly declared from his dad's honey stand in Union Square Park.

As Nick Hoefly, owner of Astor Apiaries, described his initial fear of bees, his voice was tinged not with even the slightest note of trepidation but with obvious excitement. "It was frightening and exhilarating and thrilling to be around the bees," he said. "When you first install them and you pour them into the hive, I often liken it to going over the first drop of a rollercoaster."

What originally started as a hobby forHoefly soon grew into a career. Today, Astor Apiaries operates approximately 60 hives in and around New York City. The company continues to grow, as does Hoefly's robust admiration for his bees. Any fear that he felt during his first beekeeping season has since dissipated. Hoefly will scoop bees up in a spoon for research purposes or pour bees onto his bare hand for a video without hesitation. But according to Hoefly, the more time that he spends with bees, the more he realizes he still has to learn about the captivating creatures. It's this enthrallment that keeps him stimulated from one season to the next.

"Watching the bees is like watching a fire. There’s something that’s intrinsically interesting about them,"Hoefly said.

If watching the bees is akin to watching a fire, it's fitting the scent of a campfire lingers in the air as Wilk tends to the bees on the Ridgewood rooftop. Upon entering each hive and occasionally thereafter, the Queens-based beekeeper pumps clouds of smoke from a stainless steel cylinder, bathing the insects in a scent intended to calm them down.

The premise of using smoke to soothe bees is nothing new. A 1914 newspaper column mentions that the common puffball fungus was used to stupefy bees, and even earlier accounts in the United States detail how Native Americans burned puffballs for the purpose of safely gathering honey from hives. And interpretations of ancient Egyptian tomb paintings suggest that the idea of smoking bees dates back thousands of years. In the tombs of Rekhmire, for instance, a painting shows one beekeeper tending to a stack of horizontal clay hives while another beekeeper stands by his side holding a bowl of smoke.

To this day, there isn't one clear-cut explanation for why the smoke affects the bees in such a way. Many beekeepers reason that the smoke tricks the bees into thinking that their hive is on fire. In anticipation of having to leave the hive and search for a new home, the bees begin to load up with honey, which makes them slower and less aggressive.

But Wilk personally adheres to the explanation that the smoke disguises the bees' alarm pheromone. Bees communicate with pheromones, and the alarm pheromone is a defensive reaction that they'll utilize to alert nearby bees that there's an intruder entering their hive. With a distinct smell of bananas, it can spell trouble for a beekeeper. The idea, then, is that the scent of smoke will mask the alarm pheromone so that the beekeeper can work in the hive without putting the bees on high alert.

"It's really easy to ... " Bruce Shriver, a hobby beekeeper residing in Carroll Gardens and founder of Gowanus Apiary, trailed off, stopping himself short of saying that it was easy to keep bees. Though being able to keep hives on the roof of his house has undoubtedly afforded Shriver a certain level of convenience, his decade-long hobby has not been absent of challenges.

On a sunny afternoon in early May, Shriver installed a package of bees in an empty hive on his Brooklyn rooftop. If the use of the word "package" immediately evoked an image of bees being sent through the mail, well, you'd actually be right in this case. Yes, bees can be shipped; colonies are only allowed to travel via surface transportation, while a queen and up to eight attendants are eligible for air transportation. But a package doesn't necessarily have to come through the mail, and many beekeepers choose to pick theirs up (Wilk got his from Coté this season).

The term "package" refers to a shoebox-sized container that holds 3 pounds of bees, or approximately 10,500 bees, as well as a food source for its occupants. In the package, the queen resides in a separate wooden box and must be handled carefully. "I can’t tell you how many times I’ve dropped the queen cage into the package, and that’s really scary, having to retrieve it by sticking your hand in this. The other thing that’s happened to me more than a few times is I accidentally let the queen fly away," said Shriver.

There are also the stings, which Shriver admitted never get less painful, only less surprising. There was the question of transporting heavy supplies through his roof hatch, a problem solved by the addition of a pulley system from the backyard. There's the issue of the varroa mite, a parasitic mite whose presence can lead to the demise of an entire colony. And there are the harsh winters, offering no guarantee that colonies will survive until spring.

So what Shriver had meant to say, rather than suggesting it was easy to keep bees on his roof, was that there was far more nectar and pollen in the city environment than what most people would assume. "This part of Brooklyn, we’ve got so many trees," he said. "I don’t think people really realize that about a built environment like New York City, that there would be so much for the bees to collect.There just seems to be so many buildings and so much concrete. But in between all that, we’ve got all of these trees."

For Shriver and others, urban beekeeping has provided them with a greater appreciation for nature within New York City.

"Even in a city like New York, there’s so much nature and there’s so much wildlife," said Hoefly, adding a suggestion that those New Yorkers who typically fall into the stereotype of always being in a rush should try to slow down and see what's around them.

It’s a wonderful way to connect to nature,"Coté said. He describes his hives as "little boxes of calm.

Hearing beekeepers speak about their bees with such adoration is inspiring, without a doubt, but jumping right into ordering a package of bees without extensive research is ill-advised. Those hoping for a career change should know that making a profit from hives is far from guaranteed. Many beekeepers supplement their honey sales with other methods of income. At Astor Apiaries, Hoefly runs public hive tours and teaches private workshops. And Coté offers a wide variety of services, like overseeing hives for notable clients and wrangling bees for on-camera engagements. Recently, he published a memoir about his adventures as an urban beekeeper.

If your interest in beekeeping comes from a love for nature and a desire to help bees, setting up your own hives may be a misguided way to accomplish that mission.

"If one wanted to just enjoy bees in nature, they could go for a walk, see them in the tree, and go home," said Coté. It's not that he doesn't want others to experience the joy that beekeeping brings to him. But he's too familiar with people setting up hives and then neglecting them, leading to increased swarming and the spread of disease.

Wilk feels similarly, suggesting that New York City is suffering from too many hives and not enough food for the occupants of the hives and native pollinators alike. "People want to pat themselves on the back and say they’re helping the environment," he said. "If you want to help the environment, plant flowers. There are plenty of honey bees and native pollinators that need food."

Still, Wilk is always happy to share his fondness for bees and his extensive wealth of knowledge with others. He particularly enjoys placing a drone bee into the outstretched hand of an onlooker and watching their demeanor shift from one of panic to one of contentment upon informing them that drones don't have stingers. The drone won't stay for long before flying away, his departure often accompanied by a fond wave. Truthfully, that interaction will mean absolutely nothing to the bee.

But for the person who was able to feel the vibrations of the tiny creature against the palm of their hand, that fleeting moment can indeed be meaningful. And it is through experiences like these that a greater appreciation for honey bees, as well as for the significant role that they play in pollinating our planet, is born.