In an age of digital overwhelm and urban disconnection, Sue Hubbell's A Book of Bees: And How to Keep Them offers something increasingly rare: a meditation on the rhythms of nature wrapped in the practical wisdom of a working woman's life. Originally published in 1988, this New York Times Notable Book remains as relevant today as the day it was written.

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Hubbell's journey from city dweller to commercial beekeeper managing 300 hives in the Missouri Ozarks provides the framework for what Kirkus Reviews aptly called "a melodious mix of memoir, nature journal, and beekeeping manual." After her divorce, Hubbell found herself alone with a beekeeping operation to run, and her book chronicles a full year of this demanding work—from preparing hives for winter to the sweltering labor of honey harvest.

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What sets this book apart from typical how-to guides is Hubbell's ability to weave practical beekeeping knowledge with profound observations about solitude, self-reliance, and the natural world. She famously describes beekeeping as "farming for intellectuals," and her writing proves the point. Whether she's explaining the intricacies of re-queening or sharing the unconventional wisdom of working hives naked (to prevent bees from getting tangled in clothing), Hubbell maintains a voice that's both authoritative and refreshingly humble.

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The book's seasonal structure mirrors the natural rhythms that govern both bees and beekeeper. Hubbell doesn't romanticize the work—she's frank about the physical demands, the equipment failures, and the challenges of Colony Collapse Disorder and pesticide impacts. Yet her prose reveals the deep satisfaction found in understanding and working alongside these remarkable creatures.

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Hubbell's background in journalism and library science serves her well as she translates complex beekeeping concepts for both novices and experienced practitioners. Her observations about the symbiotic relationship between bees, humans, and crops feel particularly urgent in our current era of environmental concern.

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Beyond its value as a beekeeping guide, A Book of Bees succeeds as a meditation on finding purpose and meaning in the second half of life. Hubbell's practical feminism—evident in her matter-of-fact descriptions of running heavy machinery and managing a business alone—offers inspiration without preaching.

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Critics have compared Hubbell to Henry Thoreau, and the comparison is apt. Like Thoreau, she finds profound meaning in close observation of the natural world. Unlike Thoreau, she does so while running a commercial operation, making her insights grounded in both philosophy and profit margins.

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A Book of Bees appeals to multiple audiences: beekeepers seeking both practical advice and philosophical reflection, nature enthusiasts drawn to beautiful prose about the outdoors, and readers interested in stories of resilience and reinvention. In our increasingly disconnected world, Hubbell's book reminds us of the deep satisfaction available to those willing to work closely with nature's rhythms.

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For anyone seeking a thoughtful escape from modern life's complexities, Sue Hubbell's hive offers both honey and wisdom in equal measure.