Telling Tales from the Road

Soon the beekeeping truck will be clocking up scores of hours every week in the Bay of Plenty, in the meantime Aimz goes right back to the start, reflecting on a lifetime of adventure and misadventure of a family hitting (sometimes literally) the highways and by-ways of life and beekeeping.

Winter 2026. The bees are looking fantastic. The breath of revival is seeping through the honey shed, and we are feeling confident and positive for the incoming season.

Still, the frost settles through polar nights. Winter is for heartening fires and good company. It is also a time for telling tales, so make yourself comfortable as I rustle up a story for you.

Once there was a girl, raised in the hustle and buzz of a beekeeping family.

Aimz the mechanchix, a useful set of skills in my family.

The day I came earthside was the most fantastic time of year, Christmas morning. My three brothers were left to babysit the presents under the tree while mum was presented with her darling angel, (me), in the hospital. Good timing Aimz. It’s likely their patience has been tested ever since.

Older brothers. They were the instigators, the enablers and the insurance policy when things went sideways, and they have tested me no end. A victim of circumstance, I wound up in hospital on more than one occasion. If you’re gonna be dumb, you better be tough. I learnt early in the piece there are fundamental differences that separate the boys from the girls.

The nineties was a particularly sweet era, and right from the beginning, bees brought us our daily bread. Going to school was a kind of interim between beekeeping. Mum would be feeding out sugar before, during and after school, often knocking on the classroom window in her bee-suit to get us out early. Oh the shame of it.

But really, hats off to Mum, she pulled finger when it counted, and with little kids in tow. My early years were but a blur of bee-sites, but they were bloody good ones. (The sites as well as my memories.)

Fast forward a couple years, all my brothers were volun-told beekeeper helpers, but not yours truly. Bees weren’t my thing. I had a hundred acres to explore, and I would disappear with a dog or a horse until I wanted to come home.

Need a car wrecked? I know the crew…

The autonomy I had been granted was maybe why I gained my independence at a young age. It was my Mum, who pushed me towards an automotive mechanic apprenticeship as a 15-year-old school leaver. Beekeeping was hard enough without worrying about what your teenage daughter was up to.

Having a car, and knowing a few things about them, meant that I would occasionally get midnight phone calls when one of my brothers had gone sideways themselves. If I had a bee for every vehicle they destroyed, I’d be making splits!

It’s not supposed to go like that.

Between us kids we managed to make the place look like a wrecker’s yard, and it drove Dad nuts. He swore never again, and the day the scrappies came was a significant event in his life.

Here my story diverges from that of home and the honey company. While I disappeared into work and creating a new family, they ticked over in the background with upheaval and expansion being common themes. The brothers stayed in and out and around sometimes, but their motor skills never got any better.

While working in Australia I would get updates from back at the bee-yard. The boys had progressed to rolling utes, trailers and a chip truck, and playing chicken with loggers and livestock.

Logging trucks don’t back down in case you were wondering. His cab missed the bee truck, but the trailer cut in, grinding the bee truck into the bank and ripping the driver’s door off. My brother was almost in shock as a warm, wet sensation had him thinking his leg was mangled, only it turns out to be his meat pie, fallen into his lap.

Guardian angels or just dumb luck, no-one has really hurt anything, other than pride.

What about me? Since I’m telling stories, I have a confession to make. Before I started keeping bees, I was party to an act of incompetency involving a bucket of honey in a moving vehicle. I wasn’t even the driver. I kept this story under wraps for years, but since the old man celebrated his 70th, I thought I better give him a laugh as well.

It’s definitely not supposed to look like that.

One of the perks of being a beekeeper’s daughter is the honey. This time I was given a tall narrow 20l bucket, full to the brim with fresh runny blackberry honey. As always, Dad asked if it was secure. Of course it was, nestled in the rear footwell of our 7-seater land rover, my oldest girl sitting in the back with it.

Halfway home up the windy ranges my child sleepily announces that her feet feel warm. Seriously, that’s what she noticed. All we could do was drive, and with all the ups and downs by the time we got home honey was running out all four doors, a visible trail up the driveway.

What would you have done? Not quite understanding the consequences for the local beekeepers, all we could do was pull the seats out and open the doors for the millions of bees, bumblebees and wasps to do the drycleaning. For days, a smoky fire burned nearby to mask the scent of honey and keep everyone docile.

They did a good job. Every last drop was sucked dry, but shame kept me silent and I told my dad it was excellent blackberry honey. (Not lying at all, of course I tried some.)

Stick to your side of the road kids.

Now the years have rolled by. I am a full-time beekeeper, and I can admit my mistakes. Unlike my siblings, my driving record is almost impeccable. Years spent test driving other people’s cars has made me hyper-aware of my surroundings. Here’s hoping that good run lasts and I’ll try to keep the sticky situations in the shed and not out on the road.

One last update on the brothers. It’s possible they have grown up and repented their wicked ways with vehicles, but I’m not convinced. The pie-guy is ditching bees to drive dump trucks in Australia, so watch out world, flipping one of those babies will be child’s play.

Staying warm until next time,

Aimz

Aimz is a second-generation commercial beekeeper in the Bay of Plenty who took up the hive-tool fulltime at the end of the 2024 honey season. Formerly a stay-at-home mum to four kids, she has now found her footing in the family business.