My cousin Russ was a remarkable man in many ways. Had he been born today, I think that he would have been diagnosed as dyslexic, given an independent educational plan, and perhaps been taught to read. As it was, even though his mother was a school teacher, he never became comfortable with reading even though he succeeded in completing high school and a couple of years of college. He became educated far beyond the formal confines of his education.

Russ was an unconditional farmer who embraced organic farming on his Montana acreage when none of his neighbors employed such tactics. He recycled machines purchased at auction sales that most considered to be junk. He invented and welded and modified and experimented all of his life.

In her book about alternatives to industrial farming, Lentil Underground, Liz Carlisle cites him as a pioneer and a leader not only in his own farming practices, but in forming alliances and cooperatives with other farmers for growing, harvesting and marketing organic food products.

I have thought of myself as an academic. I thrived in college and graduate school and enjoyed the challenges of learning through traditional academic institutions. I am an avid reader and learn in conventional ways. However, I also recognize that I have learned a great deal from sources outside the academy. One of the great teachers of my life has been my cousin Russ.

Perhaps because he struggled with reading, Russ became a powerful listener. Fairly early in his life, he connected with audio books before they were called audio books. He learned to check out books on tape from the state library for the blind. He kept a rugged cassette player nearby and listened to books as he went about his farm chores. His listening skills, however, were not only for recordings. He was a great listener to a wide variety of people. When he was alive, I looked forward to every opportunity to spend time with him because he listened carefully to what I said. Even when I was young and full of myself, he would let me ramble on knowing that he was paying attention to what I was saying.

It wasn’t just me. He listened to others as well. He went to farm sales and listened to the farmers who were selling out and those who came by to make a purchase and support their neighbors. He listened to auctioneers. He listened to politicians. He listened to people with whom he disagreed. He listened to those whose ideas and values were similar to his. He listened to his indigenous Blackfoot neighbors. He listened to the organizers of the alternative energy movement.

There is a difference between someone who is present and silent, but not paying attention, and a good listener. Russ was genuinely a good listener. I was always amazed at how much he knew and how much information he could gain, organize, and retain without using the tools with which I was familiar. I read and write. I keep notes in notebooks and on my computer. I surround myself with stacks of paper. Russ listened. He organized ideas and concepts in his brain. Then he applied what he had learned.

One of the things he learned was to trust the land he farmed and the animals in his care. He observed what grew and what did not. He paid attention to the places that were not intensely farmed. He walked through conservation reserve land, looked closely, and learned. Once he told me that he had become convinced that the best organic farming practice was to do nothing. The earth produces food without human intervention and though human actions can increase food production short term, the most sustainable practices come from allowing plants and animals to grow naturally.

I think often of my conversations with my cousin and I miss them now that he has died. If we were able to have a conversation these days, I would ask him about bees. I thought about becoming a bee keeper a lot before I became steward of a couple of hives. I spent a year planning and learning after I had a place and the time to care for bees. I purchased a couple of hives and prepared a place for them before I brought two nuclear colonies and installed them on our son’s farm. In my usual manner, I read books, took notes, did Internet research, joined a beekeeper’s association and took classes. I obtained my certification from the Washington Department of Agriculture.

What I have discovered, however, is that I am not a bee keeper. That is my relationship with the bees is not keeping them. They pretty much do what they will. I did provide the hives where the colonies live and I have decided that next year I will build slightly different hives to house bees. I do know about mixing sugar and water to supplement the bees food sources during the season when plants are not blooming. I have learned to inspect my hives, locate the queen, check for Verroa mites, and notice the difference between brood cells and honey cells. I have learned to harvest honey.

But the more I watch these incredible creatures the more I realize that they do better with less intervention. Unlike the advice of many of the books I have read and many of the bee keepers who are focused on honey production, I have learned to inspect my hives less and disrupt my bees less. I harvest less honey and allow the bees to keep more. One of my guides to this process has been the book, The Idle Beekeeper by Bill Anderson. The most important guide, however, has been the bees themselves. They don’t like it when I disassemble their hives, remove frames and inspect them. They don’t bother me when I simply observe.

For now, I am laying aside earlier plans of expanding the number of colonies in my care. I want to learn both from the bees that live in my colonies and the native bees that visit the farm and live in other places. I’ll leave intensive honey production and commercial crop pollination to others. And as I am doing less and observing more, I’ll remember my cousin Russ and his incredible intelligence. Even though his life on this earth has ended and his body has been buried in the land that he loved, his presence with me is real and there is much I can learn from him.