As much as I dislike the chickens on our farm, I love my bees. Do they sting? Of course they sting. The swarm is a wild animal. But after a few painful years I'm no longer a ham-handed goofball with my hives, and a morning spent in sync with this amazing animal is never a bad morning. Not only are bees low maintenance, not only do they pay a wonderful rent, but they demonstrate a genius and an optimism — there's just no other word for it — that makes me feel more creative and alive.

The Connecticut winters are tough, though. I do what I can to support the bees, which is mostly just building a wind break with bales of straw, making sure that the hive stays ventilated enough to prevent water vapor condensation, and preventing mice from taking up residence. That and avoiding original sins like poor hive placement or collecting too much rent. But ultimately it's a battle between the animal and Mother Nature. It's up to them to survive. Or not.

Honeybees don't hibernate (bumblebees do, but hive colony bees don't), and they can't fly south for the winter. To survive a Northern winter, bees change the composition of the swarm by shrinking the overall population, caulking the hive, getting rid of the deadweight males (i.e., ALL of the males), and laying just enough eggs to preserve a minimal survivable population through the winter and into spring. They cluster together in the center of the hive, keeping the queen in the center, shivering their wings to create kinetic energy, occasionally sending out suicide squads to retrieve honey stores from the outer combs. They lower their metabolism by creating a cloud of carbon dioxide in the hive. Yes, a carbon dioxide cloud.