Apimondia was incredible! Copenhagen is a flourishing city, and the perfect place to meet with others passionate about protecting pollinators. The coffee was strong, the architecture was beautiful, and the conversations were inspiring. 

Of the conferences we've attended, few were as buzzing as this one. Though I'm usually not one for the sales-heavy aura of expo floors, the intention and quality of conversations at Apimondia were utterly refreshing. Red lights for calmer bees in transit, regenerative projects across geographies, phenomenal data analyses, and thermally regulated hives were only the beginning of a very exciting week at the Bella Centre with the Apimondia Congress.

A stellar presentation by Tucka Saville, a beekeeper who runs Tucka Bee LLC, managing hundreds of hives in Florida. Many were flooded after extreme storms and weather.

What was perhaps even more exciting than the World Bee Bar and Honey Awards showcases were the 300+ scientific presentations that happened throughout the week. The opportunity to listen, learn, collaborate, and simply laugh with people who care about bees was a pleasure. I don't think I've ever handed out so many bees-ness cards in one week!

Something that surprised me was how many conversations shifted away from beekeeping itself, and towards policy. There's urgency now, sure, but if all the beekeepers in the world grew an extra pair of arms it still wouldn't prevent the damages caused by poor policy. In many ways, this conference was about getting to the heart of the hydra chewing through everyone's hives; bees as infrastructure, and pollination as necessity. I'm coining that phrase. 

Łysoń's latest insulated hive models drew in crowds that surrounded them daily. Having visited them several months ago in Poland, this made for a fantastic catch-up.

Seeing familiar faces halfway across the world made for a real cozy feeling of the world being much smaller than it seems. Outside of the scientific presentation halls and across the hall from the coffee truck, the expo floor was packed and buzzing on a daily basis. Yes, yes, like a big beehive.

It seemed like everyone was saying: 

"Things are bad. Where do we go from here?" 

Well, the answer certainly isn't simple, but it is becoming clearer. Today, it's a matter of accepting that floods, fires, disease, and heatwaves aren't exceptions anymore. Tomorrow, it's designing for failure and building to survive through it.

The aftermath of Cyclone Freddy in Nsanje, Malawi in 2023 (Malawi Red Cross Society).

These sentiments hit close to home for us at Beekon. As we develop the world's first buoyant beehive system for flood-affected regions, we're chased by a ticking time bomb of runaway agricultural collapse. We can only imagine the damages that may come as hurricane and typhoon season make landfall across the globe later this year.

The more we talk with farmers, beekeepers, insurers, researchers, and cooperatives, the more we see the same pattern. A vast majority believe things are going to get worse before they get better, and formerly 'if' conversations are now 'how often', and 'how bad'.

Etienne Bruneau presents on the increasing risk of flooding amidst climate change, and the lack of solutions that exist for beehives facing flooding today.

Beekeeping is shifting towards climate adaptation work, and it seems the line between 'agriculture' and 'disaster response' is blurring ever faster. I'm no prophet, but we may just look back on this decade as the one where beekeeping shifted from hobby to infrastructure. It's only responsible for 76% of the food we produce in the world, after all. 

Back in the day, 'telling the bees' meant informing one's bees of births, deaths, and changes in the family. We were held accountable, and the bees would listen. 

Maybe it's about time for us to tell the bees that we're listening to them, too.