JK Orchard and Farm

04/08/2026

Finally getting the chance to do a Spring hive inspection to see how everyone faired over the winter.

Unfortunately only 1 have overwintered, but there was a good amount of honey left so hopefully we can harvest it in a couple weeks and have some honey available again.

Zoom in on the last picture and check out those pollen panties. Joe said when they are "red" like that those are from the dandelion pollen. 🌼

04/08/2026

Sun’s out, bees are out 🐝
Spring is doing its thing.

04/03/2026

The farm is waking up with spring. 🌷 The daffodils are in full bloom, the tulips are starting to come up, the raspberries are budding, and the bees are buzzing.

Joe and I are really enjoying the slower pace this year, without all the work and hustle the strawberries would be bringing right now.

If you’re out this way, slow down and take in the beauty of the daffodils and tulips as you drive by. Give us a toot too if you see us out.

01/22/2026

After sharing last night, I realized the in-between deserves more space.

That space so many of us find ourselves in right now, where the old way of being no longer fits, but the new way hasn’t fully come online yet.

It’s a strange place to stand.

The mind wants to move forward.
To make sense of it.
To figure it out.
To reach for something familiar that once worked.

And I watched myself do exactly that.

I could see my mind trying to revert back to old survival strategies. Ways of thinking, pushing, and meaning-making that once kept me functional. Strategies that helped me survive earlier chapters of my life.

But this time, they didn’t work.

Every time I tried to lead from my mind, my body collapsed.

Not dramatically. Not all at once.

But through exhaustion. Through anxiety. Through a deep, visceral sense of “I can’t do this anymore.”

That’s when I realized this next evolution could not be solved in the mind.

The in-between is uncomfortable precisely because the mind keeps reaching for answers that no longer exist.

It wants to recreate certainty.
It wants to restore identity.
It wants to rebuild meaning the same way it always has.

But the body knows when something is over.

And my body knew that striving, proving, and pushing forward the way I used to wasn’t just unhelpful anymore, it was actually causing collapse.

So I stopped overriding it.

Not because I had a better plan.
Not because I knew what came next.

But because my body had become the most honest source of information I had.

The in-between asks something different of us.

It asks us to stop trying to become something new before we’ve allowed what’s old to fully dissolve.

It asks us to tolerate not knowing.
To let meaning reorganize slowly.
To stay present without forcing clarity or hope.

This space can feel terrifying.

It can feel like you’re losing your mind.
Like everything that once held you together has fallen away.
Like the ground underneath you is gone and nothing has replaced it yet.

It can feel like dying.

Not physical death, but the death of who you thought you were, how you made sense of yourself, how you survived, how you knew your place in the world.

The loneliness here isn’t just emotional. It’s existential.

Grief shows up without a clear cause.
Fear shows up without an object.
Your nervous system is on high alert, while your mind can’t find a story that explains why.

And that combination can make you feel like you’re going crazy.

You’re not.

But this space isn’t a mistake.

It’s what happens when survival strategies finally lose their grip and truth starts to take the lead.

What I see now, looking back, is that my body was never the problem.

It was the key.

It knew when the old ways of coping had run their course.
It knew when my mind was trying to take me backwards instead of forward.
It knew that forcing myself to “figure it out” was no longer safe.

The pause wasn’t failure. It was intelligence.

If you find yourself in this in-between right now, where effort feels hollow, old motivations no longer drive you, and your body seems to resist everything your mind suggests, nothing has gone wrong.

You may simply be in a season where the answers can’t be thought into existence.

Where listening matters more than striving.
Where honesty matters more than momentum.
Where the body is asking to lead for a while.

This space doesn’t mean you’re stuck. It means something real is reorganizing.

And that kind of becoming doesn’t happen in the mind.

It happens when we’re willing to stay with what’s true, even when it’s undefined.

01/21/2026

On New Year’s Eve, I had a conversation that changed something in me.

I was sitting with a family member who was struggling to put words to what they were feeling. They weren’t looking for advice. They weren’t asking to be fixed. They were just tired. Disoriented. Grieving something they couldn’t quite name.

And in that moment, I felt myself drop into a place that was very quiet and very true.

I spoke from there.

I named what they were carrying. I named the loneliness that didn’t make sense. The grief without a clear cause. The fear that wasn’t attached to anything specific. The exhaustion from trying to "survive" without knowing what the work even was anymore.

They went silent. Then they said, “That’s exactly it. I didn’t know how to say any of that.”

They felt seen. Held. Heard. Not because I gave answers, but because I gave language.

What came through that night needs to be named and
shared.

2025 was not a year of growth. It was a year of stripping.

It dismantled roles that were held together by obligation.
Identities built on proving, performing, surviving.
Stories that kept us functional but not aligned.
External structures many of us used to feel safe.

What it did not do was replace them.

It didn’t install a new identity.
It didn’t teach us how to live from the inside out.
It didn’t automatically create trust or safety.

So many people walked out of 2025 with less scaffolding, fewer illusions, and more truth in their bodies than their minds could explain.

That’s why it felt so hard.

What many are feeling right now is not failure.

It’s the in- between.

The old self is gone.
The new self hasn’t come fully online yet.
So the system suspends.

That suspension can feel like loneliness.
Like grief without a story.
Like fear without an object.
Like hopelessness mixed with a quiet knowing that something is over.

Especially for those who didn’t spend 2025 turning inward or building an internal relationship with themselves, this space can feel unbearable.

This isn’t pathology.

It’s what happens when identity deconstructs faster than the nervous system can reorganize.

This is why nervous system work will be everywhere in 2026.

Not because people need to be fixed.
Not because everyone is dysregulated.

But because identity cannot reform without the body feeling safe enough to live without the old armor.

More regulation and tools is not the answer. Right now, people need permission to stop performing healing.

To stop outsourcing their truth.
To stop forcing hope.
To stop trying to “do it right.”

It’s about meeting yourself where you actually are, without judgment or shame, and letting a foundation rebuild from truth instead of effort.

If you feel like you’re standing on unfamiliar ground right now, you’re not behind.

You’re rebuilding a foundation that is real.

Healing doesn’t start with becoming.
It starts with meeting yourself where you actually are.

From there, capacity grows naturally.
To receive love.
To receive connection.
To receive ease, joy, abundance, and flow.

Not from false hope.
Not from proving.
Not from performance.

But from truth.

I’m sharing this because language creates orientation.
And orientation creates safety.

If this names something you haven’t had words for yet, let it land gently. You don’t need to rush forward.

This space is not a mistake.
It’s where the new foundation is forming.

And that is exactly what this year is asking of us. 💕

Much Love,
Karen

01/16/2026

A quiet thought

I’ve been thinking about how easily the word special gets assigned now.

Not just to moments, but to experiences, objects, and arrangements we’re told to value.

Special has become something you can reserve, purchase, or step into on cue. Something already framed for you, already named, already approved.

You don’t have to listen inward.
You don’t have to notice what your body is responding to.
You just have to participate.

For tired systems, that can feel comforting.

Being told what is special removes the risk of disappointment and the effort of discernment. It offers certainty in a world that feels noisy and fast.

As my own nervous system has softened, my relationship with special has changed.

I’m less interested in things that need to be labeled, packaged, or justified. More drawn to what I recognize quietly, without instruction.

What truly nourishes rarely announces itself.

It’s felt in the way you breathe more fully, settle more deeply, or stay longer than you planned.

This isn’t about judgment or being above anything.
It’s about remembering that meaning isn’t assigned.
It’s embodied.

12/31/2025

Today is the last day of 2025.

For many, this year carried deep loss, long uncertainty, and the unraveling of things that once felt stable or safe.

It asked more of us than we expected and for many, it took more than we knew how to give.

As the new year approaches, it can bring quiet pressure to set goals and look ahead, even when parts of us are still tired from what we’ve had to release.

After a year that asked for so much letting go, my body doesn’t want to reach or strive just yet. It wants something simpler. Kinder. Something it can settle into.

Instead of goals, I’m choosing states I can return to.

A calm breath.
A sense of ease.
Moments of quiet joy.
Feeling steady again, even briefly.

Goals can feel heavy after a hard season.

States feel like permission... like coming home to yourself, again and again, without needing to get anywhere.

If you’re feeling tired, or tender, or unsure what comes next… maybe you don’t need a plan right now. Maybe it’s enough to notice the state your body is asking for today, and allow that to be enough.

You’re not behind.
You’re resting in the in-between.

Even the land rests before it begins again.💕

11/29/2025

Last week, The Lima News stopped by the farm to talk with Joe about what we, and many beekeepers across the country, are experiencing with unusually high hive losses this year.

We’re grateful they took the time to listen, learn, and help raise awareness about what’s happening inside the bee yards right now. This isn’t a typical winter die-off situation. Many hives are struggling or leaving long before cold weather even hits, and beekeepers everywhere are trying to make sense of it.

It’s a difficult reality for beekeepers, and it’s becoming a growing challenge across the industry.

As we head into winter, here are a few simple ways to support pollinators (not just honeybees):

• Leave some of your leaves where they fall. Many native pollinators, like butterflies, moths, and solitary bees, overwinter in leaf litter.

• Avoid cutting back all of your perennials. The hollow stems of flowers and grasses provide winter shelter for beneficial insects.

• Skip heavy lawn chemicals or late-season spraying. Even in fall and early winter, these can disrupt the insects that overwinter in your yard.

• Keep a small part of your yard “untidy on purpose.” A natural area gives native bees and other pollinators a safe place to ride out the cold months.

• Support your local beekeepers by buying honey, attending workshops, or simply sharing their posts. Most of the money from honey sales goes right back into buying bees and equipment for the next season.

These small choices make a surprising difference, not just for honeybees, but for the entire ecosystem of pollinators that keep things blooming in spring.

Thank you for caring about the bees and for following along with us.

LIMA — A routine inspection of the honeybee hives at JK Orchard and Farm turned to disappointment: A queen bee wandering alone in the upper chamber of the hive, abandonded by her colony to die.

11/27/2025

Have you ever heard of a honey pie?🥧

I made one a few weeks ago for my stepdad’s birthday, and it honestly surprised me.

It tastes a lot like pecan pie, just without the pecans. Smooth, caramel-like, and the honey gives it a deeper flavor than corn syrup ever could.

Joe already asked me to make another one, but this time with tiny chopped pecans mixed in.

My mom said pecans usually float to the top in pies, so we’ll see if they behave or if they all rise and make a crust.

Since today is Thanksgiving and everyone is talking pies, I’m curious, has anyone ever made a honey pie or even heard of one?

It feels like one of those old-fashioned recipes that most people forget about.

If you have tips or a way to keep the pecans from floating, I’d love to hear.

Hope you’re all having a peaceful holiday and enjoying good food with people you love.

11/13/2025

Bee Update from the Farm 🐝

We wanted to share an honest update about how our bees are doing this season, because the story unfolding in our hives is the same one we’re seeing across the beekeeping community right now.

This year, beekeepers everywhere are reporting unusually high losses, many of them around 70–75%.

We are right in that range ourselves.

We went into fall with nine hives. Today, we have four.

These weren’t hives with high mite counts, beetles, or obvious disease. They were strong, active colonies.

And then they simply… left.

The picture is is one of the queens we found, marked blue, which shows she was a 2025 queen. She had moved up into an upper box, barley alive and abandoned by the colony.

No pests. No visible stressors. Just a queen left behind, and a hive that decided not to stay.

Some seasons, bees struggle because of weather, or pesticide drift, or pests.

But this year, even with good nectar flow and plenty of forage, colonies across the nation just didn’t rebound or build like they normally would.

Why we’re sharing this... because the reality of modern beekeeping is it is no longer a “honey business", it is a labor-of-love that requires constant reinvestment.

Most beekeepers now have to buy new bees every year, sometimes multiple times. A first-year hive rarely produces surplus honey.

Overwintered colonies usually give the best harvests, but only if they survive the winter.

When hives keep failing or leaving, the cost of beekeeping rises dramatically ... not just financially, but emotionally. You put in the time, money, care, and hope… and still lose them.

This is why supporting your local beekeepers through:
🍯 honey and bee product purchases
🌱 workshops attendance
💛 monthly donations or sponsorships
🙌 sharing their posts
…matters more than ever.

Honey is becoming harder and more expensive to produce. Bees are becoming harder to keep alive.

And the keepers who stay in it do so because they care deeply about the bees, the ecosystem, and the role pollinators play in our food supply.

We don’t have all the answers... none of us do.

What we do have is a lot of determination, a lot of learning, and a lot of respect for these tiny creatures who do so much for the world.

We’ll continue to share updates as we prepare our remaining hives for winter and as we plan for next season.

Thank you for supporting us, supporting your beekeepers, and caring about the bees. It truly makes a difference.

Joe & Karen

11/07/2025

A couple of weeks ago, at the annual member appreciation night, Joe was voted in again as a board member, this time for a two year term on the Central Ohio Beekeepers Association board. 🐝

For the past three years, he has been part of their Veteran Beekeeping Program, driving to Columbus every week February to September.

The first two years he went as a student. This past year he returned as a mentor and led the Veterans Bee Yard, walking over 75 members through hive inspections and maintenance tasks and holding space for questions and learning.

Watching him grow into that role has made me so proud.❤

During the election they asked each candidate to stand and share a few words. Joe stood up without hesitation, calm and steady, while my hands instantly started to sweat for him. 🤣

I was so grateful they gave everyone that moment to speak, because Joe is so humble and introverted. I worried that some might not connect the name on the ballot with the quiet guy who has been leading the bee yard every week.

Being re-elected means a lot to him.

It’s not just about bees... it’s a sense of purpose, a place of belonging, and a weekly reset from the constant hum of farm life. And an excuse to get out of Lima each week.

This year, it’s become something more meaningful for the both of us.

The day after losing the dogs, Joe had FYBY (First Year Bee Yard) and I dreaded staying home alone so I went with him.

What started as a way to escape the silence has turned into something sacred... our weekly drive, time to breathe, to talk, to heal.

I’m so proud of Joe... of the heart he brings to the bees, to the veterans he mentors, and to everything he does.

And I love the way this beekeeping community keeps finding new ways to connect us... to each other, to what matters most, and to the quiet pockets of hope that keep us going. 💛

{Pic} The picture I took of Joe while he was giving his speech before the election.