08/07/2026
Last night, I had the pleasure of working side by side with my littlest beekeeper.
Over the past couple of years, Iāve watched Willās curiosity about beekeeping slowly turn into something much more.
When he was little, he was my tiny honey thief. He would stand beside me while we extracted and bottled honey, waiting patiently for his chance to stick his little finger into the honey and get a taste.
As he got older, he became the quiet observer.
He would hang back, watching me work from a safe distance. He didnāt ask a lot of questions. He just watched.
Then, little by little, I started seeing that curiosity take hold.
He began creeping closer to the hives. He would show up with handfuls of freshly picked dandelions because he wanted to make sure the bees had something to eat. š¼
He started approaching the hives with me, even without his gear, fascinated by what was happening inside those wooden boxes.
Last year, I decided he was ready for his very own beesuit.
And last night, that little beesuit came with us to Cape Cod.
I was doing a rather in-depth honey bee relocation at a summer camp. This wasn't a simple hive removal. The bees had built their home inside the wall of a cabin, so we had to carefully cut into the wall and remove the colony and the comb.
When Will saw the enormous, three-foot-long sections of honeycomb built inside that wall, he was amazed.
He suited up and asked if he could climb up and take a look before I started removing everything.
So up the ladder he went.
And there he stood.
Quietly observing.
Looking for the queen.
Watching thousands of bees move across the comb.
And then, something happened that I don't think he'll ever forget.
He watched a brand-new honey bee emerge from a cell in the brood chamberāthe nursery of the hiveāfor the very first time.
He wasn't just looking at bees anymore.
He was witnessing life.
And as I watched him watching them, I couldn't help but think about how much happens right in front of us when we slow down enough to notice.
This is why I believe so strongly in getting our kids outside.
Let them get dirty.
Let them plant the seed.
Let them pick the dandelions.
Let them gather the eggs.
Let them feed the animals.
Let them watch a seed become a plant and a flower become food for a bee.
Let them see where their food actually comes from.
There is something so important about raising children who understand that food doesn't magically appear on a grocery store shelf.
There is soil.
There are seeds.
There are animals.
There are pollinators.
There are seasons.
There is hard work.
There are failures and lessons and muddy boots.
And there is an incredible, beautiful cycle that connects all of it.
I want this generation to know that cycle.
I want them to understand that they aren't just consumers in this world. They can be participants.
They can grow something.
They can raise something.
They can nurture something.
They can care for the land and the creatures that depend on it.
And maybe, just maybe, they will carry that knowledge forward.
As a mom, there is something incredibly special about watching your child discover a passion without you forcing it upon them.
I didn't have to tell Will to love the bees.
I didn't have to make him interested.
I just gave him the opportunity to watch.
And he watched.
Then he came a little closer.
Then a little closer still.
And somewhere along the way, curiosity became connection.
Last night, standing on that ladder beside him, watching him search the comb for the queen and marvel at a new bee entering the world, I realized how proud I am of this quiet little journey of his.
My tiny honey thief is growing up.
And somewhere along the way, he became my little beekeeper.
I don't know if he'll always love bees.
I don't know where this curiosity will take him.
But I know this:
I will keep opening the doors.
I will keep handing him the beesuit.
I will keep putting seeds in his hands.
And I will keep giving him opportunities to discover the incredible world God created for him.
Because sometimes the most important things we teach our children aren't taught at all.
Sometimes, we simply invite them to come along.
And let them watch.
