How Community Shares the Honey Harvest

by Arlene Kroeker, photo by Philip Solman

At the southwest corner of Richmond, on one of the oldest farms on the island, I meet Brian Campbell, Master Beekeeper (I refer to him as the King of Bees). Brian practices apiculture, or beekeeping, the human management of the honey bee, and the Steves farm (yes, hence the name Steveston) is home to four stacks of his hives. This is just one of several Richmond backyards that house Brian’s honey producers.

On this warm day, I tag along to watch Brian check his hives. As I zip up a white jumpsuit, he tells me, “There are approximately 20,000 species of bees in the world, 850 named bees in Canada, and one that makes honey.” He’s talking about the European bee, or as it’s also known, the Western Honey Bee.

I place the hat and veil over my head and ensure that my hands and feet are well covered, all the while eyeing the four rows of beehives with some trepidation. A few bees fly around the hives and appear calm, which they are by nature. I am the one who has been nervous, ever since Brian told me these hives house approximately a quarter of a million bees. Brian lights a fire in his smoker, which he pumps a few times, emitting a cloud of smoke to calm the bees, if necessary.

“One out of every three bites we take depends on bees,” he says. “Recent reports state that 80 to 90 percent of honey bees have died out on Vancouver Island. Three years ago there were 12,000 honey beehives on Vancouver Island. This year there are 2,000.” In the Lower Mainland and other areas of BC, there has been, on average, a 45 percent decrease in bees in recent years, the numbers climbing every year.

And it’s not just happening in BC, it’s happening around the world. Bees are in trouble, which means beekeepers are, too. (There are half as many beekeepers today as there were 20 years ago.) The loss of bees means more than a reduction in available honey for consumers. Brian says, “To get a carrot, we don’t need bee pollination because the part we eat is the root, not the “fruit” of the plant.  But to get the seed in the first place, carrots need to be pollinated by bees. A loss of bees means a lower production of fruit at higher costs. The loss of bees means fewer and more expensive seeds to grow basic foods.  No bees equates to no mustard, broccoli, cabbage, kale; no artichokes, sunflowers, pansies, nasturtiums, poppies.  Maple trees are bee pollinated, as are chestnuts and oaks. No apples, cherries, pears, strawberries, blueberries.  No mint, thyme, basil, rosemary, sage, oregano. The list is endless.”

People seem to be unaware of the value of the honey bee on many levels. We consume the honey that they make, and we consume the food crops which they pollinate. We even eat animals which rely on feed made possible because of bee pollination. No other insect performs such a crucially important role within our ecosystems. The partnership between bees and flowering plants and trees has a history of over 100 million years. They are an essential component to our continued survival.

Brian takes off the top of the hive. Curiosity replaces my trepidation as I watch the process with awe. The bees carry on with their duties, ignoring the fact that he carefully and patiently slides out a frame and inspects the honeycombed rectangle for honey production. He checks the bees for health. Yes, they are susceptible to flu and dysentery. He looks for the queen, who has a longer abdomen than the drones or workers, but doesn’t find her. He knows she’s there though. If she weren’t, the bees would know about it within fifteen minutes and panic.

The frames are dripping with bees. The hum, or buzz, sounds like a chant. At most, one or two bees alight on our jumpsuits. Steves’ cows poke their heads over the fence, curious, and unconcerned about the bees. I point out several bees with reddish colouring. “That’s pollen from a horse chestnut tree. These bees travel up to three kilometres from the hive in search of pollen,” Brian tells me. “If they find a good source, they come back and recruit the young ones to help.”

Brian explains the intricate social life of these bees. They communicate information through their scent and each bee is assigned a duty—nurses for the young, novice flyers, experienced pollinators, doorkeeper—at each stage of its life. Their lives are short, about six to eight weeks, but the queen can live for years.

After a couple of hours, Brian has finished with one stack of hives. He places food (pollen) on top of the frames before replacing the lid. He’s satisfied with the health of the hive and confident in the production of honey this season.

Brian has introduced Community Supported Apiculture or CSA, a first for British Columbia. He offers individuals, families, and corporate groups the opportunity to pre-purchase or sponsor a portion of the year’s honey harvest. A “honey share” encourages and supports ethical, organic, and sustainable beekeeping practices in the community. It supports Brian up front so he can be the best at managing the ancient art of beekeeping.

The price of honey hasn’t increased in ten years, yet the costs to make honey have skyrocketed. Last year, a beekeeper could buy a two-pound package of bees for $90. This year the cost is $200.

The low price of honey in Canada, says Brian, is due to the cheap imports from Argentina and China. There’s no problem with the honey; it’s just inexpensive, and may contain up to 20 percent corn syrup. Chinese honey was banned in Canada until a few years ago. Instead, China sold their honey to Australia as bee feed. Australia repackaged the honey and sold it as Australian honey. The process was coined “honey laundering.”

Imported honey doesn’t come from bees pollinating Canadian crops—and it doesn’t support the skilled and knowledgeable Canadian beekeepers. “Sustainable, organic, pure honey tastes like where it comes from,” says Brian. “The honey from this hive will taste like Steveston. Buy local and know what you are getting.”

Brian sells three layers of shares:

• Drone: $30 supplies you with one kilo of unpasteurized honey and a 250ml jar of pollen and honey blend.
• Worker Bee: $50 gets you the same as Drone, but also includes an exclusive tour of the apiary and an invitation to help with the honey harvest.
• Queen Bee: $400 gets you all the surplus honey from one hive (which could be 60–100 lbs of honey, depending on the weather) and a personal visit to the hive to see how the bees are doing.

Brian includes a newsletter to all honey shareholders.

Brian says that honey bees don’t work alone. Plants and bees work together. They need a team that resembles a pollination guild. Even hummingbirds are part of the process. If one doesn’t do its job, they are all in distress. And, says Brian, if we care about the honey bees, we have to care about the entire system. We have to ask the fruitful questions. Instead of just asking why bees are dying out and accepting the answer that cellphones are to blame, or pesticides, or development of agricultural land, we need to understand that there isn’t a finite answer, and that we need to become involved in one way or another. And Brian has some solutions: buy local honey; buy honey shares.

For more information contact Brian at 778-554-6421 or email This e-mail address is being protected from spambots. You need JavaScript enabled to view it

Arlene Kroeker loves honey—with steel cut oats, drizzled on strawberries, slathered on toast with butter, mixed into salad dressing. Her mother tells her she inherited her love of bees and honey from her grandfather, who was a beekeeper in Manitoba. Arlene purchased a Drone share from Brian and wishes she had a backyard to offer him for more hives.