This Beekeeper is Sweet on City Streets

Jean-Claude Bourrut is big into the social network. No, not that social network. Bees are his buzz of choice. He has been beekeeping for 20 years now. “When you fall into social insects, you’re hooked,” he says unapologetically. But do not for a heartbeat picture Bourrut as a Lone Ranger on the bee list. Do not imagine him in a white hat, white gloves, and veil, communing only with his colonies out in farm country. Because Jean-Claude Bourrut is an urban and suburban beekeeper. What he does has everything to do with cross pollination with kindred spirits of the two-legged kind.

You might say that Jean-Claude Bourrut stumbled upon his honey. In the early 1990s, he arrived for one of his first days at a new job. During the orientation process, someone pointed in the direction of some hives and told him that those industrious little pollinators would be his coworkers. Not only would their health, welfare, and pursuit of happiness fall under his jurisdiction, but he was also responsible for collecting the benefits of their labors. And that sweetened the deal. The previous beekeeper gave him the five-minute spiel, handed him his bee smoker, and waved goodbye. “Basically, I had no mentor,” Bourrut says, explaining how he got his hum. “I read books, which led me on many wrong paths. That’s why I teach beekeeping classes to make up for the sense of community I lacked.” And that brought Bourrut to his current initiative of touching antennae through Meetup and Google groups.

There’s nothing new about beekeepers foraging for a sense of community, but where this particular beekeeper has communed with his bugs is rather novel. When you imagine Jean-Claude Bourrut with his bees and fellow beekeepers, do not picture the wild blue yonder. Right now, the majority of Bourrut’s hives are at the Boston Nature Center in the Mattapan neighborhood of the city. In addition, he manages hives at the Natick Community Organic Farm, a teaching farm in Natick, Massachusetts, where they are just one component in a diversified configuration that includes greenhouses and maple syruping facilities, along with vegetable production and raising animals for milk, wool, and meat. Although the Natick farm is spread over 27 acres, suburban sprawl skirts the property on all sides. Those two locations are where he is operating right now, but Jean-Claude’s bees have followed him wherever he went. In other words, his apiary has resided everywhere from Mattapan to Long Island in the middle of Boston Harbor. He makes no apologies for housing his bees where pavement predominates–the urban setting is where this beekeeper is most at home.

Jean-Claude Bourrut is one of a growing number of beekeepers whose bees make their propolis in a metropolis. More than being a citified beekeeper housing his industrious little buddies when he was not associated with a farm, Bourrut is a strong advocate and instructor dedicated to helping the newly hatching community of urban beekeepers take flight. Ask Jean-Claude where he’d rather keep bees, and without batting an eyelash, he will make a beeline to an urban setting.

Jean-Claude insists that the urban buzz is the way to go. “In the suburbs, there’s a monocrop of lawn,” he explains. Not only do you have large expanses of grass, but suburbanites tend to apply herbicides to their lawns. Bees bring those herbicides back to their colonies.” It is Jean-Claude’s theory that chemical exposure is one factor in the litany of environmental dangers that  don’t bode well for bees.

So, what is the advantage of city dwelling from a honeybee’s perspective? True, green oases might be few and far between in metropolitan settings, but fodder definitely exists all over. “In the city, people tend to grow flowers in their green spaces,” Bourrut says. And flowers spell food for a bee. Plus, bees’ foraging is not limited to what you can grow to attract them to your property. “Bees fly in a two-mile radius,” Bourrut explains. He feels certain that they will roam as far as five miles if necessary, picking up pollen from the dandelions, chickweed, and white clover that loiter in vacant lots. Nobody is grooming that land with chemicals. Plus, annual and perennial plants are only part of the picture from a pollinator’s point of view. Flowering street trees are a mainstay for pollen, especially maple blossoms, linden flowers, and willow catkins that you scarcely notice in early spring.

Granted, outfitting for an urban setting can be dicey for beekeepers because every one of Bourrut’s little buzzing buddies comes equipped with a nasty stinger. Although honeybees are not generally aggressive compared to wasps and hornets, they defend themselves when necessary. Bourrut suggests a few rules (see the sidebar on page 87) that might help bees stay out of mischief in urban areas. As for Bourrut, he blithely takes the “no fear” approach when working with his bees. He is an absolute proponent of wearing a veil, but he prefers to work with his bare hands rather than don gloves. “When I’m totally protected, I work faster and there’s the potential to make more mistakes. Without gloves, I go much slower and I’m more in tune with the hive.” It is a Zen thing. Meanwhile, his young daughter, Ariane, has been keeping bees alongside the maestro since she was six years old and has reached a comfort level that allows her to go gloveless. Many of her summer weekends are spent working beside her father.

Bourrut takes an organic route to his honey. His chosen methods for preventing bee diseases have more to do with sanitary management and less about medication. Plus, locally-raised bees tend to have the genetic pool that allows them to survive the local climate. So shopping regionally also pertains to acquiring queens. He does not use foundation, letting the bees build their own honeycomb. And he never extracts honey on a colony’s first year, but waits until the second year to harvest, leaving plenty of honey for the hive’s survival over the winter.

As for fodder, he is all for growing your own flower field, with the knowledge that the bees will also access what’s available further afield. Keep in mind that honeybees are infinitely efficient. Because they only carry the harvest from a single type of flower back to the hive on each trip (that eccentricity explains why they are prized as pollinators), they dote on dense stands of mint, clover, or whatever. Those dandelions covering a vacant lot look like the Promised Land from a troupe of roving bees’ perspective. The shorter the distance between hive and fodder, the happier the honeybee. In the city, where vacant lots are on almost every other block, they will not have to fly far to find food. Bourrut’s advice is, by all means, plant some agastache, salvia, bee balm, and sedum for the bees, but do not worry about trying to grow a hive’s entire diet.

Bourrut will gladly explain the ropes to anyone even vaguely interested. “No one helped me get started,” he explains, “so now I offer advice, whether you want it or not.” He has become something of a local master of ceremonies for the honey crowd, serving as one of the moving forces to get a Boston-area-based Tour de Hive up and flying. That event profiles visits to several apiaries in Mattapan, Cambridge, and Somerville via bicycle or any other mode of transportation attendees care to hop. He teaches beekeeping classes through NOFA (Northeast Organic Farmers Association) as well as at the Natick Community Organic Farm. Plus, he monitors local bee forums and helps potential beekeepers find their way to bee clubs that can help with the expense of equipment and honey extractor rentals.

If the city sometimes feels like a beehive of activity, Jean-Claude Bourrut is all for encouraging that metaphor to fly. Boston has the potential, and the dandelions, plus there is sufficient space and plenty of folks who like the sweet life. Now all you have got to do is get the hum.